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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 



ftlacmillan's Porkrt lEuflUsI) Classics. 



A Series of English Texts, edited for use in 

Secondary Schools, with Critical 

Introductions, Notes, etc. 



l6mo. Levanteen. 25c. each. 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison. . 
Macaulay's Essay on Milton. 
Tennyson's The Princess. 
Eliot's Silas Mart r. 
Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner. 
Cooper's Th- ' \st of the Mohicans. 
Burke's Spee( . on Conciliation. 
Pope's Homer's Iliad. 
Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield. 
Shakespeare's Macbeth. 
Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. 
Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice. 
Dryden's Palamon and Arcite. 
Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. 
Milton's Comus. Lycidas. and Other Poems. 
Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal. 
Browning's Shorter Poems. 



others to follow. 




GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON. 



ClllLUE llAUOLD S riLGRIMAGE 

H IRomaunt 
By lord BYRON 

EDITED 
WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 

BY 
ANDREW J. GEORGE, M.A. 

Department of English, Hmii School, Newton. Mass. 

Epitor of Wokosworth's " PKELrnE," "Select Poems of Bvrns," "Tub 
SuoRTER Poems of Milton," " From Chaucer to Arnold," etc. 



*' The aiulacitij and grandeur of Byron tnust certahdy 
tend toward culture. Ei^en/thing that is great promotes 
culture as soon as you are aware of it." — Goethk. 



Nfto gork 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Lv>. 
1899 
All rights reaet^ved {. 



'Vi 






B4640. 



Copyright, 1899, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 






" J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith 

VWjV-\^ ^ ^^ *^ Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 



TO 
PROFESSOR EDWARD DOWDEN, Litt.D. 

TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN 

IN RECOGNITION OF HIS KINDLY INTEREST 

IN THE WORK 

OF A FELLOW-TEACHER 



Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind ! 

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art, 

For there thy liabitation is the heart — 
The lieart wliicli love of thee alone can bind ; 
And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd — 

To fetters and the damp vault's dayless gloom, 

Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 
Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, 

And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod. 
Until his very steps have left a trace 

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod. 
By Bonnivard ! — May none those marks efface ! 

For they appeal from tyranny to God. 

Sonnet on Chillon. 



CONTENTS 



, PAGK 

Prefatory Note ......... ix 

Introduction ......... xi 

Preface to Edition of 1812 ...... xxvi 

Addition to the Preface xxviii 

Appreciations ......... xxxi 

CiiiLDE Harold's Pilgrimage : 

Dedication 1 

Canto First 3 

Canto Second 40 

Canto Third 75 

Canto Fourth 116 

Chronological 179 

Notes 181 

References 277 

Index 279 

vii 



X PREFATORY XOTE 

Byron has not received the recognition which is his due. 
The reason for this is that the tragedy of his life has inter- 
ested us more than the triumph of his art. A careful study of 
/Childe Harold as revealing his life on the one hand and his 
art on the other will do much toward creating that kind of 
recognition which such an artist deserves. By frequent quota- 
tion from his other works, and those of the poets who have 
contributed to the great revolutionary movement in our cen- 
tury, I have tried to furnish the general reader with sufficient 
material for understanding the poem, and to place the student 
in a position of perspective which will naturally lead him to 
extend his view. 

I wish to express my gratitude to the distinguished scholar, 
critic, and teacher, Professor Edward Dowden of the University 
of Dublin, not only for generous recognition of my gleanings in 
the great harvestfield of English literature, but also for kindly 
permission to associate his name with this masterpiece of a poet 
of whom he has written with rare insight, magnanimity, and 
eloquence. 

A. J. G. 

Brookline, Mass., January 1, 1899. 



INTRODUCTION 



The history of the world must be interpreted in terms of 
personality ; for it is through the lives of great men that great 
events are revealed. In the crises of history, — periods of revolt 
against a low conception of God and man, — from the time of 
Job and Prometheus, to that of Newman and Arnold, men 
have arisen whose trumpet notes have been a call to more seri- 
ous thought and more determined action. They have been 
misunderstood in proportion as their message was a summons 
to sacrifice cherished ideas and habitual modes of action ; but 
time, the great revealer of truth, has evolved reverent criticism 
which on its moral side is a study of conduct, and on its aes- 
thetic a perception of beauty. A right perspective is thus 
attainted by which justice, though late, is done to the past. 

In one of these crises we come upon the strange personality 
we call Byron, by whose ironical laughter on the one hand and 
imperious disdain on the other, English literature became Eu- 
ropean ; and we are at once challenged for an opinion upon one 
who presents such marked contrast to some other great leaders 
of our century, notably Wordsworth and Tennyson. 

In his admirable lectures on The French Revolution and 
English Literature delivered at Princeton University in 1897, 
Professor Dowden said : "To acquire a right feeling for Byron 
and his poetry is a discipline in equity. It is easy to yield to a 
sense of his power, to the force and sweep of his genius ; it is 



XIV INTRODUCTION 

march dazzled some with its pageantry, but it aroused the 
indignation of patriots by its wanton cruelty. When the 
tyrant was checked at Waterloo, and the Holy Alliance, which 
promised peace to Europe, followed in the old lines of des- 
potism, terror reigned again in France, Spain, Italy, and the 
states of Europe. Then a new series of revolutionary move- 
ments began, and nations as far removed as England and 
Greece were lighted up with the flame of patriotism. The old 
order seemed passing away, and the new had not yet come. 
In such a political and moral ferment Byron found himself 
soon after taking his seat in the House of Lords ; and, filled 
with the spirit of unrest, he started on that eventful first visit 
to Europe, the results of which are given us in the first two 
cantos of Childe Harold. Here is distinctly heard for the 
first time that cry of freedom which is the central note of all 
his work. 

We are more interested in the merits of Byron's work than 
in the mystery of his life. The thrill of his work is worth 
many theories of his life. There are three periods in Byron's 
work. The first begins in the year 1800 with his "first dash 
into poetry." Then followed Juvenilia, and Hours of Idleness 
in 1806-1807, in which the lyric note is dominant. The 
reception of these poems by the Edinburgh Revieiv caused 
him to put forth in 1809 English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, 
in which, with pen dipped in gall, he attacked the creators 
and the critics alike. It is the most inhuman satire in the 
language. Elze says, " Pope and Byron each stood on the sum- 
mit of Parnassus, and with the weapons of his satire hurled 
down all aspirants from that height." In this period he 
began Childe Harold's Pilgrimage during his visit to the 
Continent. His second period begins with his return to 
London in 1811. He now publishefl Cantos I. and II. 
of Childe Harold, the verse romances, and Hebrew Mel- 
odies. Here was continued the note of revolt. Professor 



INTRODUCTION XV 

Dowden says : " It is a cry for freedom, — freedom from the 
tottering tyrannies of the time, from the tottering creeds, from 
discredited traditions, from the hypocrisies of vulgar respecta- 
bility, from cavil and sham." At a single bound, in Cliilde 
Harold, he reached the topmost round of the ladder of fame, 
— a position which he held unchallenged until his death. 
Only Scott and Burns among English poets received such 
instantaneous recognition. The world of fashion paid him 
homage; poets, statesmen, philosophers, sent him most flatter- 
ing tributes. His door was crowded by the leading men and 
lovely women of the day. " All this world and the glory of 
it " were at once offered to this youth. No one was more sur- 
prised than the shy, lonely man, who only three years before 
could find no friend at court to present him to the House of 
Lords. "I awoke one morning," he says, "and found myself 
famous." The third period begins wi'th wdiat proved his last 
leave-taking of England, in 1816. With the strain of the 
sea in his nature, he exulted at the change from the " burn- 
ing marl " of crowded streets, — 

" Once more upon the waters, yet once more, 
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
That knows her rider. Welcome to the roar ! " 

He remained in Italy until 1823. It was during these 
years that he met Shelley, through whom he was induced 
to study Wordsworth. The memorial of this friendship is 
Shelley's Julian and Maddalo, in which we have a glimpse of 
the Byron of this time. 

"But pride 
Made my companion take the darker side. 
The sense that he was greater than his kind 
Had struck, methinks, his eagle spirit blind 
By gazing on its own exceeding light," 

The works of this period are sketches and dramas, but the 
greatest of all were the last cantos of Childe Harold and Don 



xvi INTRODUCTIOir 

Juan. In the last of these he begins a new style, the disdain, 
cynicism, and audacity of which in revolt against conventional 
social morality, politics, and religion, become bitterly savage, 
and yet the descriptive and lyrical elements are full of tender- 
ness and pathos, the expression of — 

"The love of higher things and better days ; 

Th' unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance 
Of what is call'd the workl and the world's ways." 

Witness amid tlie vulgarity of Don Juan these verses : — 

" 'Tis sweet to hear 
At midnight on the bhie and moonlit deep 

The song and oar of Adrians gondolier, 

By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep ; 

'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear ; 
'Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep 

From leaf to leaf ; 'tis sweet to view on high 

The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 

'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 
Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home ; 

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming and look brighter when we come ; 

'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, 
Or luird by falling water ; sweet the hum 

Of bees, the Voice of girls, the song of birds. 

The lisp of children, and their earliest words." 

At this time Greece had fallen upon evil days and the ro- 
mantic struggle was drawing near its end ; English sympathiz- 
ers raised funds and wishing to associate some distinguished 
name with the enterprise, none seemed more suitable there than 
that of the poet whose cry had been freedom from tyranny of 
every kind. An incident of his school-days at Harrow sliows 
how truly the child was father of the man. When a big fellow 
claimed the risjht to fag his little friend Peel, and, finding liim 



mTRODUCTION' xvil 

not very obedient, began to beat him in the inner forearm, which 
he had twisted round to make it more sensitive, Byron, too 
small to fight the rascal, came up " blushing with rage " and 
asked how many stripes were to be given, as he would " take 
half." This was his attitude toward tyranny throughout life, 
and his willingness to "take half" of the punishment. Byron 
set out for Greece on July 14, 1823. He was appointed to a 
command in the army against Lepanto. On the morning of his 
twenty-second birthday he wrote, — 

' ' Seek out — less often sought than found — • 
A soldier's grave, for thee the best ; 
Then look around, and choose thy ground, 
And take thy rest." 

He died of fever at Missolonghi the 19th of April, 1824. 

The forces in English life and literature which anticipated 
the Revolution were many. In literature the work of Cowper 
and Crabbe, in denunciation of luxury and the vices resulting 
from inequality and oppression of the poor, in raising the stand- 
ard of human brotherhood and preaching the gospel of service, 
had unconsciously prepared the way for reform. The peiiod of 
actual Revolution is best represented by Wordsworth and Cole- 
ridge, and that of renewed activity by Byron and Shelley. 
The typical poems of the three jDeriods respectively are Cowper's 
2\tsl', Wordsworth's Prelude, and Byron's Childe Harold. 
In the same period as Childe Harold should be included Shel- 
ley's Prometheus Unbound It is worth our while to compare 
Wordsworth and Byron, inasmuch as each maintained very de- 
cided opinions in regard to the other, each espoused political 
and religious liberty, each loved man and nature, and each be- 
came the centre of a distinct literary movement. The contrasts 
between these men are striking, for, although they had in com- 
mon elements of sincerity and strength, one was a democi'at, 
cared not for the applause of the crowd, deliberately chose a life 



xviii INTRODUCTION 

of quiet, was impassioned in contemplation, strove to idealize 
the real, preached a gospel of hope, was happy in domestic life, 
rich in friends, and gained recognition slowly in the face of the 
most determined opposition ; the other was an aristocrat, lived 
for applause, chose a life of violent unrest, was feverish in 
passionate activity, strove to realize the ideal, preached a gospel 
of despair, never knew what domestic happiness was, had few 
friends, and gained popularity instantaneously and unexpectedly. 
Wordsworth believed that Byron's work lacked holiness, yet 
at the time when Byron was being so severely criticised by the 
Edinburgh Review, he said : " The young man will do something 
if he goes on as he has begun. But these reviews, just because 
he is a lord, set upon him ; they seem to think that nobody 
may write poetry unless he lives in a garret." Byron in Eng- 
lish Bards and Scotch Reviewers alluded to Wordsworth as, — 

" That mild apostate from poetic rule ; " 
and again, — 

" Let simple Wordsworth chime his childish verse ; '' 

but after having met Wordsworth at dinner, on being asked how 
he was impressed, he replied, " Why, to tell the truth, I had 
but one feeling from the beginning of the visit to the end, and 
that was reverence." 

When Byron's star was at its zenith Wordsworth's was only 
dimly seen on the horizon, where it seemed to be fixed. As 
time wcut on Wordsworth gained the ascendency, and Byron 
was called a cheap sentimentalist and vulgar romancer, "the- 
atrical, worldly, pantomimical."' Such was the reaction of a 
whimsical popular applause. But at the close of the century 
we do not feel it necessary to hate Byron in ortler to appre- 
ciate Wordsworth, nor to ridicule Wordsworth in order to enjoy 
Byron. Tastes have become more I'atholic and criticism more 
sympathetic. Great men are valued for their power to fee us 



INTRODUCTION xix 

from our narrow conceptions and arouse us into a sense of the 
nobility and grandeur of nature and human life. 

Byron's works present the tragedy of a Titan struggling 
against forces of heredity, environment, and will ; he was 
afflicted with the welt-schmerz, world-weariness, of a Hamlet; 
and his utterance was — 

" O cursed spite 
That ever I was born to set it right! " 

We must confess, I think, that Byron did much of his own 
deliberate choice to render himself unable to " lift himself above 
himself." This fact is clear and we must not blink it ; but, 
while we know what's done, we know also what's resisted : we 
can judge, but we must pity, such a life. A man who could 
win the praise of Scott, Goethe, Mazzini, Sainte-Beuve, Arnold, 
Tennyson, Morley, and Dowden, was surely no charlatan. There 
can perhaps be no better illustration of the catholicity of one's 
literary creed than the fact that he admires both Wordsworth 
and Byron as most of these men do. It is surely better to be 
of this class than of that of the Edinhurffh Review which saw 
no good in either. No eaves-dropping Polonius has yet been 
able to pluck out the heart of the mystery, of the world 
sorrow, with which this man was enshrouded, althougli many 
have patiently listened and have at times run to the gaping 
world with the old exclamation, — 

" My Lord, I have news to tell you ! " but when pressed for 
light only reply, "Well, well, we know, we could, and if we 
would," — 

Of the subject, method, and spirit of Byron's work, his con- 
ception and execution, much has been written even in our own 
time which is contradictory and bewildering, as when Mr. Hen- 
ley says, " Byron is the sole English poet bred since Milton to 
live a master-influence in the world at large ; " while Mr. Saints- 
bury says : "By reading Byron only and putting a strong con- 
straint upon myself, I got nearly into the mood to enjoy him. 



XX lyTHonrcrioy 

But let eye or ear once catch sight or sound of real poetry 
and the enchantment vanishes," Tennyson said, " Byron is not 
an artist or a tliinker, or a creator in the highest sense, but a 
strong personality." When such charges are given by judges, 
is it any wonder that the jury of onhnary readers should fail to 
agree on a verdict ? 

In the first place, it is evident that much of the work of one 
who wrote such a vast amount so rapidly, and who seldom recast 
a line, must be careless work. Byron says : " I am like a tiger. 
If I miss tlie first spring, I go grumbling back to my jungle 
again ; but if I do it, it is crushing." When he does it, then 
we have poetry full of sincerity and sti-ength, burning with 
passion, and lighted up with flashes of imaginative insight in 
which events and actions, exalted by robust enthusiasm for the 
great, the beautiful, and heroic in liistory and human life, live 
forever as a precious possession ; it promotes culture, for every- 
thing great promotes culture as soon as you are aware of it. 
This is sutticient to establish his claim to a great poet, and yet 
no one presents more marked contrasts between his best and his 
worst. He cannot hold himself to painstaking work as a 
great artist like Tennyson does. His imagination is only occa- 
sionally of the first order ; his verse is often halting and rude, 
his ordering of events mechanical, and his purposes lacking in 
ethical significance. This last defect was partly due to the 
times, in reaction against the fine phrases, polished emptiness, 
and subtle theories of conduct of the last century. What Sir 
Henry Taylor says of much of Byron's work, in his Preface to 
Philip Van Artevelde, is to the point : " There is apparent in 
his poetry a working and moulding spirit, with a want of ma- 
terial to work up, — a great command of language with a want 
of any views or reflections, which, if unembellished by imagery 
or unassociated with passionate feelings, it would be very nuich 
worth while to express." Hisstrengtli lies in his tremendous per- 
sonal will, in power to conceive single events and incidents mostly 



INTRODUCTION XXI 

historical, to make them vivid, to fill them with that inde- 
scribable charm, that fine perception, which moves the reader. 
Such work is not the rule with Byron, and could not be with 
cue who wrote much in haste, while undressing after coming 
home from balls and masquerades ; but it is to be found scat- 
tered iiere and there at intervals, and is sufficient to give dis- 
tinction. With this is a fine feeling for Nature, not in way of 
interpretation of her secrets, to be sure, but in that of deep feel- 
ing and accurate and sensitive observatipn. Many of his tales 
are steeped in a balmy Eastern atmosphere ; while the dramas 
are full of natural magic, — lurid with the storm, and magnifi- 
cent with the majesty of sea and mountain. Here at least 
Byron bowed in reverence to the Infinite as power, if not as 
goodness. Here he does something to keep the soul alive, if 
not to save it. We must believe that much of this reverence 
he gained from his love of the Hebrew poets, for he says, " I 
am a great reader and admirer of those books, and had read 
them through and through before I was eight years old ; that 
is to say, the Old Testament." His love of Nature came from 
very early associations and impressions, and contributed much 
which in his poetry makes for mental health, power, and pleas- 
ure. In The Island, alluding to his Scotch parentage and the 
influence in the "land of mountain and of flood," mingling with 
those of later life, he says : — 

" The infant rapture still survived the boy, 
And Loch-na-gair with Ida looked on Troy, 
Mixed Celtic memories with Phrygian Mount, 
And Highland linns with Castalie's clear fount." 

That Byron knew himself and his instinct for man and nature, 
is splendidly revealed in these lines : — 

" I love not JNIan the less, but Nature more. 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before. 



XXU INTRODUCTION 

To mingle with the universe and feel 

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal." 

Although he early passed from distinctly lyrical work to that 
of other types, yet we must not overlook his music of passion 
and pathos. While his lyrics lack the freshness and spontaneity 
of Burns, the delicacy and refinement of Tennyson, the flush 
and glow of Shelley, and the repose and purity of Wordsworth, 
— owing perhaps to his devotion to Pope, whom he regarded as 
the "greatest name in poetry," — yet they flash with splendor 
of action, thrill with passionate regret, and palpitate with 
piercing pathos. As early as 1816 he wrote: — 

" Oh ! how I hate the nerveless frigid song, 
The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng, 
Whose labour'd lines in chilling numbers flow, 
To paint a pang the author ne'er can know." 

Professor Nichol says: "He set the 'anguish, doubts, and 
desire,' the whole chaos of his age, to a music whose thunder 
roll seems to have inspired the opera Lohengrin — a music not 
designed to satisfy the 'budge doctors of the stoic fur,' but 
which will continue to arouse ^nd delight the sons and 
daughters of men." 

Byron's subjects are natural ones for the age and the man. 
The age had grown sated with the sterile wit of the professional 
moralists and wanted life in earnest, though it was not over-nice 
as to the quality of that life. Byron was born for revolt 
against shams of all kinds, and we should not be surprised 
that every hero in his works bears upon his shoulder the 
hammer of Thor. 

" The giant on the mountain stands. 
His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, 
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands. 
And eye that scorcheth all it glows upon." 



INTRODUCTION xxiii 

Each hero is the impersonation and idealization of a noble 
passion determined to put down phantoms of hypocrisy and 
traditional formulae. Here we find the old Berserker spirit 
giving birth to the genius of Romance. There is burning 
indignation and withering scorn of "the society of worldlings 
and hypocrites which has helped to make him a mocker and a 
sceptic." In Hours of Idleness he sang : — 

" I would I were a careless child. 

Still dwelling in my Highland cave, 
Or roaming through the dusky wild, 

Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave ; 
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride 

Accords not with the freeborn soul. 
Which loves the mountain's craggy side. 

And seeks the rocks where billows roll." 



In his various characters Byron " wears the mask of an actor 
in old Greek tragedy, set to one monotonous, terrible, or sorrowful 
expression." We may regret that he was not a better man and 
a more careful artist, but the fact remains that he was a great 
poet who exerted an influence on the literature of Europe second 
to no English writer except Shakespeare. Through the impact 
of his vigorous personality, the brilliancy of his eloquence, and 
the splendor of his audacity, he aroused Europe and created the 
Romantic movement in France, Italy, Germany, and Spain. 

No author ever wrote who revealed his inmost soul more 
clearly, frankly, and sincerely than did this Corsair of modei-n 
England. The last act in the life of this unhappy great man was 
as tragic as the first. Tired of the shams and mummeries, 
exhausted with burlesque, and depressed with melancholy, he 
sought refreshment in the struggle for unhappy Greece and 
found death, a happy relief from pain and struggle. "I know 
no more beautiful symbol of the future destiny and mission of 
art," says Mazzini, "than the death of Byron in Greece. The 



XXIV INTRODUCTION 

holy alliance of poetry with the cause of the people, — the union, 
still so rare, of thought and action, — the grand solidarity of 
all nations in the conquest of the rights ordained by God for 
all his children — all that is now the religion and the hope of 
the party of progress in Europe is gloriously typified in this 
image." 

Wlien the cry "Byron is dead," reached England, it brought 
consternation to the heart of a Lincolnshire lad who had come 
under the spell of that mysterious and magic personality, and 
young Tennyson went out alone and engraved upon the sand- 
stone, " Byron is deail ! " and wrote that memorial tribute be- 
ginning, 

"The hero and the bard is gone." 

We read in his Memoir, " That was a day when the whole 
world seemed darkened for me." 

Carlyle, who had said many harsh things of Byron, wrote : 
" Poor Byron ! aks, poor Byron ! The news of his death came 
upon my heart like a mass of lead ; and the thought of it sends 
a painful twinge through all my being as if I had lost a brother. 
God ! that so many souls of mud and clay should fill up their 
base existence to its utmost bound ; and this tlie noblest spirit 
of Europe sink before half his course was run." 

A later poet bewailing the death of Goethe, Byron, and 
Wordsworth sings : — 



" AVhen Byron's eyes were shut in death, 
We bow'd our heads and held our breath. 
He taught us little ; but our soul 
Had /('/? him like the thunder's roll. 
AVith shiverinii- heart the strife we saw 
Of passion with eternal law ; 
And yet with reverential awe 
We watch'd the fount of fiery life 
Which served for that Titanic strife." 



INTRODUCTION XXV 

Byron knew his own weakness, and the mournful regret of 
the good abbot over the sins of Manfred may have been his 
own judgment of himself: — 

" This should have been a noble creature : he 
Hath all the energy which would have made 
A goodly frame of glorious elements, 
Had they been wisely mingled ; as it is 
It is an awful chaos — light and darkness, 
And mind and dust, and passions and pure thoughts 
Mixed, and contending without end or order," 

The wise words of Mr. Aubrey de Vere on Shelley have 
equal and especial significance in the case of Byron : "To esti- 
mate justly the fiiults as well as the merits of great minds is a 
duty which we owe, not only to truth and to ourselves, but 
to them. It is only when we know what hinderances were 
opposed to their greatness by the forfeits exacted from their 
faults that we can know to what that greatness might without 
such obstacles have amounted. We can but guess what would 
have been the mature works of such a mind, when that planet- 
birth had cooled down sufficiently to produce healthy growths. 
The manhood of human life is still but the boyhood of the 
Poet; yet how much did he not leave behind in his brief 
span ! . . . Looking on what is past and gone through the 
serene medium of distance, all petty details vanish from our 
view, and a few great realities stand above. With the joy of 
a strong swimmer he flings himself upon the stream of life, and 
finds himself bleeding on the rock it covers ! To say " it was 
his own fault " is a mode of disposing of the matter rather 
compendious than satisfjictory. For his errors he is answer- 
able to another tribunal than ours. The age which partakes 
of and fosters such errors, and others more sordid, may find 
time to remember his sufferings as well." 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST AND SECOND 
CANTOS 



The following poem was written, for the most part, amidst 
the scenes which it attempts to describe. It was begun in Al- 
bania ; and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were com- 
posed from the author's observations in those countries. Thus 
much it may be necessary to state for the correctness of the 
descriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, 
Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece. There, for the pres- 
ent, the poem stops ; its reception will determine whether the 
author may venture to conduct his readers to the capital of the 
East, through Ionia and Phrygia : these two cantos are merely 
experimental. 

A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving 
some connexion to the piece; which, however, makes no pre- 
tension to regularity. It has been suggested to me by friends, 
on whose opinions I set a high value, that in this fictitious 
character, " Childe Harold," I may incur the suspicion of hav- 
ing intended some real personage : this I beg leave, once for 
all, to disclaim; Harold is the child of imagination, for the 
purpose I have staled. In suiiTe"very trivial particulars, and 
those merely local, there might be grounds for such a notion ; 
but in the main points, I should hope none whatever. 

It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation 
"Childe," as "Childe Waters," "Childe Childers," etc., is 
used as more consonant with the old structure of versification 



PREFACE TO FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS XXVll 

which I have adopted. The "Good Night," in the beginning 
of the first canto, was suggested by "Lord Maxwell's Good 
Night," in the Border Minstrelsy, eilited by Mr. Scott. 

With the different poems which have been published on 
Spanish subjects, there may be found some slight coincidence 
in the first part, which treats of the Peninsula, but it can only 
be casual ; as, with the exception of a few concluding stanzas, 
the whole of this poem was written in the Levant. 

The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most success- 
ful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the fol- 
lowing observation : " Not long ago, I began a poem in the 
style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full 
scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, de- 
scriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour 
strikes me ; for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have 
adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition." ^ 
Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the ex- 
ample of some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall 
make no apology for attempts at similar variations in the fol- 
lowing composition ; satisfied that if they are unsuccessful, 
their failure must be in the execution, rather than in the de- 
sign, sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and 
Beattie.2 

London, February, 1812. 

i Beattie's Letter to Blacklock, September 22, 1776, iiv Sir W. 
Forbes's Life of Beattie, Vol. I., p. 89. 

2 Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, Thomson's Castle of Indolence, and 
Beattie's Minstrel. 



ADDITION TO THE PREFACE 



The following " Addition to the Preface " appeared in a later 
edition : 

" I have now waited till almost all onr periodical journals 
have distributed their usual portion of criticism. To the justice 
of the generality of their criticisms I have nothing to object : it 
would ill become me to quarrel with their very slight degree of 
censure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind they had 
been more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my 
best thanks for their liberality, on one point alone shall I ven- 
ture an observation. Amongst the many objections justly urged 
to the very indifferent character of the 'vagrant Childe' (whom, 
notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to 
be a fictitious personage), it has been stated that, besides the 
anachronism, he is very tmhiightli/, as the times of the Knights 
were times of Love, Honour, and so forth. Now, it so happens 
that the good old times, when ' I'amour du bon vieux tems, 
I'amour antique,' flourished, were the most profligate of all pos- 
sible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may 
consult Sainte-Palaye, 2Mssim and more particularly Vol. II., 
p. 69.^ The vows of chivalry were no better kept than any 
other vows whatsoever; and the songs of the Troubadours were 
not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than 
those of Ovid. The ' Cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour, ou de 

1 Memoires sur VAncienne Chevalerie, Paris, 1781. 
xxviii 



ADDITION TO THE PREFACE XXlX 

courtesie et de gentilesse ' had much more of love than of cour- 
tesy or gentleness. See Roland^ on the same subject with 
Sainte-Palaye. Whatever other objection may be urged to that 
most unamiable personage, Childe Harold, he was so far per- 
fectly knightly in his attributes, — ' No waiter, but a knight 
templar.' ^ By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem and Sir Lance- 
lot were no better than they should be, although very poetical 
personages and true knights 'sans peur,' though not 'sans 
rdproche.' If the story of the institution of the 'Garter' be 
not a fable, the knights of that order have for several centuries 
borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indifferent mem- 
ory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted 
that its days are over, though Marie-Antoinette was quite as 
chaste as most of those in whose honour lances were shivered, 
and knights unhorsed. 

"Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph 
Banks ^' (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern 
times), few exceptions will be found to this statement; and I 
fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these mon- 
strous mummeries of the Middle Ages. 

" I now leave ' Childe Harold ' to live his day, such as he is; 
it had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have 
drawn an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over 
his faults, to make him do more and express less ; but he never 
was intended as an example, further than to show that early 
perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures 
and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties of 
nature and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most 
powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so constituted, or 

1 Recherches sur les prerogatives des dames chez Gaulois, sur les 
cours d'amour, etc., by Rolland d'Erceville, 1788. 

2 Quoted from The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement, in Anti- 
Jacobin, 1797. 

3 Sir Joseph Banks, tlie eminent naturalist. 



XXX ADDITION TO THE PREFACE 

rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem, this char- 
acter would have deepened as he drew to the close ; for the out- 
liue which I once meant to fill up for hira ^vas, with some 
exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon/ perhaps a poetical 
Zeluco.- 

"LoNDox, 1813/' 

1 Timon of Athens. See Shakespeare's play. 

2 The hero of Dr. Moore's romance Zeluco. 



APPRECIATIONS 



"The day will come when Democracy will remember all 
that it owes to Byron. England too will, I hope, one day 
remember the mission — so entirely English, yet hitherto over- 
looked by her — which Byron fulfilled on the Continent ; the 
European role given by him to English literature, and the 
appreciation and sympathy for England which he awakened 
among us. He led the genius of Britain on a pilgrimage 
through Europe." — Mazzini. 

" He was like one of those Greek heroes, — youthful, re- 
splendent, as skilful with the sword as with the lyre, — 
beloved by a beautiful woman, conqueror alike in sports as in 
battles, and yet condemned from the cradle by a cruel destiny 
to the infernal deities. Byron never gained a heart without 
afflicting it or himself. All the sweetness of his rich fancy 
turned to bitterness at the presence of reality. . . . Every 
poet feels that which is called in common language homesick- 
ness — the sorrow of exile, the longing after things higlier and 
holier. Every poet is like an exiled angel." — Castelar. 

" Never was there seen in such a clear light the birth of a 
lively thought, the tumult of a great genius, the inner life of a 
genuine poet, always impassioned, inexhaustibly fertile and cre- 
ative, in whom suddenly, successively, finished and adorned, 
bloomed all human emotions and ideas, — sad, gay, lofty, low. 



XXXll APPRECIATIONS 

hustling one another, mutually impeded. ... He may say 
what he will : willingly or unwillingly we listen to him ; let 
him leap from sublime to burlesque, we leap with him. He 
has so much wit, so fresh a wit, so sudden, so biting, such a 
prodigality of knowledge, ideas, images picked up from the 
four corners of the horizon in heaps and masses, that we are 
captivated, transported beyond limits; we cannot dream of 
resisting." — Taine. 

"Everything in Byron's manner, person, and conversation 
tended to maintain the charm which his genius had flung 
around him : a countenance exquisitely modelled for the ex- 
pression of feeling and passion, and exhibiting the remarkable 
contrast of very dark hair and eyebrows, with light and 
expressive eyes, . . . the most rapid play of features when 
engaged in an interesting discussion, so that a brother poet 
compared them to a beautiful alabaster vase, only seen to per- 
fection when lighted up from within." — Scott. 

" To us Byron is still a man, young, noble, and unhappy. 
To our children he will be merely a writer ; and their impartial 
judgment will appoint his place among writers, without regard 
to his rank or to his private history. That his poetry will 
undergo a severe sifting, that much of what has been admired 
by his contemporaries will be rejected as worthless, we have 
little doubt. But we have as little doubt that, after the 
closest scrutiny, there will still remain much that can only 
perish with the English language." — Macaulay. 

" That which helped to secure Byron's instantaneous tri- 
umph was his intelligibility, the entire absence of the mystic 
in him. None of those gleams of secret insight into the depths 
of nature which fill with enthusiasm the sympathies and un- 
derstanding, but confuse the crowd, ever flash from the genius 



APPnECIATIO^S xxxiii 

of Byron. . . . There is nothing in his poems which reached 
that region beyond sight, that darkness round us and within, 
winch it is the highest function of the poet to divine, the high- 
est exercise of the mind to search into, catching such glimpses 
as our faculties will allow." — Mrs. Oliphant. 

"Byron is a rude mountain-mass, tropically gorgeous, not 
perfectly symmetrical, a mighty ocean ever and anon bursting 
through the dikes of our proprieties, and devastating our 
plains ; superficial academic critics will always prefer the dainty 
finish of men who are lesser poets, though defter craftsmen. 
Perhaps much of what Byron thought, wrote, and did, was, 
like his beauty, mutilated ; but he was a glorious torso. . . . 
Of what strange and variously mingled elements was this man 
formed ! the breath of Genius descending from on high upon 
him, angels and demons, perchance, having also some unguessed 
concurrence in so vast a personality." — Roden Noel. 

"Along with Byron's astounding power and passion, he had 
a strong and deep sense for what is beautiful in nature, and for 
what is beautiful in human action and suffering. When he 
warms to his work, when he is inspired. Nature herself 
seemed to take the pen from him as she took it from Words- 
worth, and to write for him as she wrote for Wordsworth, 
though in a different fashion, with her own penetrating sim- 
plicity. Goethe has well observed of Byron, that when he is 
at his happiest, his representation of things is as easy and real 
as if he were improvising. It is so ; and his verse there ex- 
hibits quite another and higher quality from the rhetorical 
quality." — Matthew Arnold. 

"In spite of a good many surface affectations, which may 
have cheated the lighter heads, but which may now be easily 
seen through, and counted off for as much as they are worth, 



xxxiv APPRECIATIOXS 

Byron possessed a bottom of plain sincerity and rational sobriety, 
which kept him substantially straight, real, and human, and 
made him a genuine exponent of that universal social movement 
which we sum up as the Revolution. ... Nowhere else do 
we see drawn in such traits that colossal figure, which has 
haunted Europe these four score years and more, with its new- 
born passion, its half-controlled will, its constant cry for a 
multitude of unknown blessings under the single name of 
Freedom. . . . Though Byron have no place in our own 
Minster, he assuredly belongs to the baud of far-shining men 
of whom Pericles declared the whole world to be the tomb." 
— John Morley. 

"With Byron the last rays of the artificiality which had 
bound EuroJDean expression for a century and a half were torn 
off and flung to the winds. He taught roughly, melodramati- 
cally, inconsistently, but he taught a lesson of force and vitalit^ 
He was full of technical faults, drynesses, flatnesses ; he lack 
the power to finisli ; he oflended by a hundred careless i) 
pertinencies ; but his whole being was an altar on which tl. 
flame of personal genius flared like a conflagration." — Edmunl 

GOSSE. 

"Byron's cynicism is his testimony to the truth that man 
must live by faith ; his bitterness of spirit means that to move 
sanely and joyously in a moral void is impossible. At tlie last 
moment his nobler self revolted against the baseness not only 
around him but within him, and it was the champion of Greek 
liberty who fell asleep at Missolonghi. In his delirium he was 
mounting a breach. — ' Forward, forward, courage, follow my 
example.' When calm returned lie was heard to murmur; 
' Poor Greece ! . . . I liave given her my time, my means, my 
health, — and now I give her my life ! What could I do 
more ? ' " — Edward Dowden. 



TO lANTHE 



Not in those climes where I have late been straying, 
Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deemed, 
Not in those visions to the heart displaying 
Forms which it sighs but to have only dreamed, 
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seemed :' 5 

•Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek 
To paint those charms which varied as they beamed — 
To such as see thee not my words were weak ; 
To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak ? 

Ah ! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, lo 

Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, 
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, 
Love's image upon earth without his wing. 
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining ! 
And surely she who now so fondly rears 15 

Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening, 
Beholds the rainbow of her future years, 
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears. 

B 1 



2 TO lANTHE 

Young Peri° of the West ! — 'tis well for me f 

My years already doubly number thine ; 20 

My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee, 
And safely view thy ripening beauties shine ; 
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline ; 
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed. 
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign 25 

To those whose admiration shall succeed. 
But mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed. 

Oh ! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, ° 
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, 

Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, 30 

Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny 
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, 
Could I to thee be ever more than friend : 
This much, dear maid, accord ; nor question why 
To one so young my strain I would commend, 35 

But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend. 

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined ; , 

And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast | 

On Harold's page, lanthe's here enshrined 
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last : 4° 

My days once numbered, should this homage past 
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre 
Of him who hailed thee, loveliest as thou wast, 
Such is the most my memory may desire ; 
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less 
require ? 45 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 



CANTO FIRST 



Oh, thou ! in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth/ 
Muse ! formed or fabled at the minstrel's will ! 
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth, 
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill : ° 
Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill ; ° 
Yes ! sighed o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine," 
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still ; 
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine 
To grace so plain a tale — this lowly lay of mine. 



Whilome in Albion's Isle there dwelt a youth, 
Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight ; 
But spent his days in riot most uncouth. 
And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. 
Ah me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight,° 
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; 
Few earthly things found fovour in his sight 
Save concubines and carnal companie. 
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. 



4 CHILDE HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE 

III 

Childe Harold was he hight :° — but whence his name 
And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; 20 

Suffice it, that perchance they were of fiime, 
And had been glorious in another day : 
But one sad loseP soils a name for aye. 
However miglity in the olden time ; 

Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay, 25 

Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme. 
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. ° 

IV 

Childe Harold basked him in the noontide sun,° 
Disporting there like any other fly ; 

])^or deemed before his little day was done 30 

One blast might chill him into misery. 
But long ere scarce a third of his passed by, 
Worse than adversity the Childe befell ; 
He felt the fulness of satiety : ° 

Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, 35 

Which seemed to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell. 



For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run. 
Nor made atonement when he did amiss, 
Had sighed to many though he loved but one,° 
And that loved one, alas ! could ne'er be his. 40 

Ah, happy she ! to 'scape from him whose kiss 
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste ; 
Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss. 
And spoiled her goodly lands to gild his waste, 
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned to taste. 45 



CANTO FIRST 



VI 



And now Childe Harold ^Yas sore sick at heart,° 
And from his fellow bacchanals would flee ; 
'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, 
But Pride congealed the drop within his ee : 
Apart he stalked in joyless reverie, ^o 

And from his native land resolved to go. 
And visit scorching climes beyond the sea : 
With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe. 
And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below. 

VII 

The Childe departed from his father's hall : 55 

It was a vast and venerable pile ; ° 
So old, it seemed only not to fall, 
Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle. 
Monastic dome ! condemned to uses vile ! 
Where Superstition once had made her den 60 

Now Paphian girls° were known to sing and smile ; 
And monks might deem their time was come agen. 
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. 

VIII 

Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood° 
Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow, 65 
As if the memory of some deadly feud 
Or disappointed passion lurked below : 
But this none knew, nor haply cared to know ; 
For his was not that open, artless soul 

That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow, yo 

Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, 
Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not control. 



CHILD E HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE 



IX 



a 



And none did love him : though to hall and bower 
He gathered revellers from far and near, 
He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour ;° 75 

The heartless parasites of present cheer. 
Yea ! none did love him — not his lemans° dear — 
But pomp and power alone are woman's care, 
And where these are light Eros finds a feere ;° 
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, 80 

And Mammon wins his way where SerajDhs might despair. 



Childe Harold had a mother° — not forgot, 
Though parting from that mother he did shun ; 
A sister° whom he loved, but saw her not 
Before his weary pilgrimage begun : 85 

If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. , 
Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel : 
Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon 
A few dear objects, will in sadness feel 
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. 90 

XI 

His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, 
The laughing dames in whom he did delight. 
Whose lai-ge blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands, 
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, 
And long had fed his youthful appetite ; 95 

His goblets brimmed with every costly wine. 
And all that mote to luxury invite, 
Without a sigh he left,° to cross the brine, 
And traverse Paynim° shores, and pass Earth's central line. 



CANTO FIRST 
XII 

The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew, 
As glad to waft him from his native home ; 
And fast the white rocks faded from his view, 
And soon were lost in circnmambient foam : 
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam 
Repented he, but in his bosom slept 
The silent thought, nor from his lips did come 
One word of wail,° whilst others sate and wept, 
And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. 



XIII 

But when the sun was sinking in the sea 
He seized his harp, which he at times could string, 
And strike, albeit with untaught melody, 
When deemed he no strange ear M^as listening : 
And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, 
And tuned his farewell° in the dim twilight. 
While flew the vessel on her snowy wing. 
And fleeting shores receded from his sight, 
Thus to the elements he poured his last 'Good Night.' 



Adieu, adieu ! my native shore° 

Fades o'er the waters blue ; 
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 120 

And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
Yon sun that sets upon the sea 

We follow in his flight ; 
Farewell awhile to him and thee. 

My native Land — Good Night ! 125 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 
II 

A few short hours and he will rise 

To give the morrow birth ; 
And I shall hail the main and skies, 

But not my mother earth. 
Deserted is my own good hall, 130 

Its hearth is desolate ; 
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; 

My dog howls at the gate.° 



III 

Come hither, hither, my little page ! ° 

Why dost thou weep and wail ? 135 

Or dost tliou dread the billows' rage, 

Or tremble at tlie gale ? 
But dasli the tear-drop from thine eye; 

Our sliip is swift and strong : 
Our fleetest taleon searee can fly 140 

More merrily along.' 



IV 

* Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, 

I fear not wave nor wind : 
Yet marvel not, Sir Ciiilde, that I 

Am sorrowful in mind ; 145 

For I have from my father gone, 

A mother whom I love, 
And have no friend, save these alone. 

But thee — and One above. 



CANTO FIRST 



' My father blessed me fervently, 130 

Yet did not much complain ; 
But sorely will my mother sigh 

Till I come back again.' — 
' Enough, enough, my little lad ! 

Such tears become thine eye; ly^ 

If I thy guileless bosom had, 

Mine° own would not be dry. 



VI 

* Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, ° 

Why dost thou look so pale ? 
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?° 160 

Or shiver at the gale ? ' — 
' Deem'st thou I tremble for my life 1 

Sir Childe, I'm not so weak ; 
But thinking on an absent wife 

Will blanch a faithful cheek. 165 



VII 

' My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, 

Along the bordering lake,° 
And when they on their father call, 

What answer shall she make ? ' 
'Enough,'' enough, my yeoman good, 170 

Thy grief let none gainsay : 
But I, Avho am of lighter mood, 

AVill laugh to flee away.' 



10 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

VIII 

For who would trust the seeming sighs 

Of wife or paramour ? 175 

Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes 

We late saw streaming o'er. 
For pleasures past I do not grieve, 

Nor perils gathering near ; 
My greatest grief is that I leave 180 

No thing that claims a tear. 



IX 



And now I'm in the world alone, 

Upon the wide, wide sea : 
But why should I for others groan, 

When none will sigh for me ? 
Perchance my dog will whine in vain, 

Till fed by stranger hands ; 
But long ere I come back again 

He'd tear me where he stands. 



With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go° 190 

Athwart the foaming brine ; 
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to. 

So not again to mine. 
Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves ! 

And when you fail my sight, 195 

Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves ! 

My native Land — Good Night ! 



CANTO FIRST 11 



On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, 
And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay. 
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, 
New shores descried make every bosom gay, 
And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, 
And Tagus° dashing onward to the deep, 
His fabled golden tribute bent to pay ; 
And soon on board the Lusian° pilots leap, 
And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap. 

XV 

Oh, Christ ! ° it is a goodly sight to see 
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land ! 
What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree ! 
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand ! 
But man would mar them with an impious hand : 
And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 
'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, 
Witli treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge 
Gaul's locust host,° and earth from fellest foemen purge. 

XVI 

What beauties doth Lisboa° first unfold 1 
Her image floating on that noble tide, 
Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold. 
But now whereon a thousand keels did ride 
Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied, ° 
And to the Lusians did lier aid aff'ord : 
A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, 
Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword 
To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. 



12 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XVII 

Bat whoso entereth within this town, 225 

That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, 
Disconsolate will wander up and down, 
'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee ; 
For hut and palace show like filthily : 

The dingy denizens are reared in dirt ; 230 

Ne personage of high or mean degree 
Doth care for cleanliness of surtout or shirt, 
Though shent° with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwashed, unhurt. 

XVIII 

Poor, paltry slaves ! yet born 'midst noblest scenes — 
Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men ? 235 

Lo ! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes° 
In variegated maze of mount and glen. 
Ah me ! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, 
To follow half on which the eye dilates 

Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken 240 

Than those whereof such things the bard° relates, 
Who to the awe-struck world unlocked Elysium's gates ? 

XIX 

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crowned. 
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep. 
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrowned, 245 

The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep. 
The tender azure of the unruffled deep, 
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough. 
The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, 
The vine on high, the willow branch below, 250 

Mixed in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. 



CANTO FIRST 13 

XX 

Then slowly climb the many-winding way, 
And frequent turn to linger as you go, 
From loftier rocks new loveliness survey. 
And rest ye at ' Our. Lady's house of woe ; ' ° 255 

Where frugal monks their little relics show, 
And sundry legends to the stranger tell : 
Here impious men have punished been, and lo ! 
Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, ° 
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell. 260 

XXI 

And here and there, as up the crags you spring, 
Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path : 
Yet deem not these devotion's offering — 
These are memorials frail of murderous wrath : 
For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath 265 

Poured forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, 
Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath ; 
And grove and glen with thousand such are rife 
Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. 



XXII 

On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, 
Are domes where whilome kings did make repair ; 
But now the wild flowers round them only breathe ; 
Yet ruined splendour still is lingering there. 
And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair : 
There thou too, Vathek ! ° England's wealthiest son. 
Once formed thy Paradise, as not aware 
When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done. 
Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. 



270 



14 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXIII 

Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, 
Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow : 280 

But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, 
Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou ! 
Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow 
To halls deserted, portals gaping wide : 
Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, ° how 285 

Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied ; 
Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide ! 

XXIV 

Behold the hall° where chiefs were late convened ! 
Oh ! dome displeasing unto British eye ! 
With diadem hight foolscap, lo ! a fieud,° 290 

A little fiend that scoffs incessantly. 
There sits in parchment robe arrayed, and by 
His side is hung a seal and sable scroll. 
Where blazoned glare names known to chivalry, 
And sundry signatures adorn the roll, 295 

Whereat the Urchin° points and laughs with all his soul. 

XXV 

Convention is the dwarfish demon styled° 
That foiled the knights in Marialva's dome : 
Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, 
And turned a nation's shallow joy to gloom. 300 

Here Folly dashed to earth the victor's plume,° 
And Policy regained what arms had lost : 
For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom ! 
Woe to the conqu'ring, not the conquered host, 
Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitauia's coast. 305 



CANTO FIRST 15 

XXVI 

And ever since that martial synod met, 
Britannia sickens, Cintra ! at thy name ; 
And folks in office at the mention fret. 
And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame. 
How will posterity the deed proclaim ! 310 

Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer, 
To view these champions cheated of their fame. 
By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, 
Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming year ? ° 



Z^^l 



XXVII 

So deemed the Childe, as o'er the mountains he 
Did take his way in solitary guise : 
Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee, 
More restless than the swallow in the skies : 
Though here awhile he learned to moralize. 
For Meditation fixed at times on him ; 320 

And conscious Reason whispered to despise 
His early youth, misspent in maddest whim ; 
But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew dim.° 

XXVIII 

To horse ! to horse ! ° he quits, for ever quits 
A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul : 325 

Again he rouses from his moping fits, 
But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. 
Onward he flies, nor fixed as yet the goal 
Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage ; 
And o'er him many changing scenes must roll 330 

Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, 
Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage. 



16 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXIX 

Yet Mafra° shall one moment claim delay, 
Where dwelt of yore the Liisians' luckless queen ; ° 
And church and court did mingle their array, 335 

And mass and revel were alternate seen ; 
Lordlings and freres — ill-sorted fry I ween ! 
But here the Babylonian whore° hath built 
A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, 
That men forget the blood which she hath spilt,° 340 

And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt. 

XXX 

O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, 
(Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race !) 
Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, 
Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place. 345 

Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase. 
And marvel men should quit their easy chair, 
The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, 
Oh ! there is sweetness in the mountain air,° 
And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share. 350 

XXXI 

More bleak to view the hills at length recede, 
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend ; 
Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed ! 
Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, 
Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend 355 

Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader knows — 
Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend : 
For Spain is compassed by unyielding foes,° 
And all inust shield tbeir all, or share Subjection's woes. 



CANTO FIRST 17 



XXXII 



Where Lusitania and her Sister meet,° 360 

Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide? 
Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, 
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide ? ° 
Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride ? 

Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall 1 365 

Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, 
Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall. 
Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul : 

XXXIII 

But these between a silver streamlet" glides, 
And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, 370 

Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. 
Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook. 
And vacant on the rippling waves doth look. 
That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow ; 
For proud each peasant as the noblest duke : 375 

Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know 
'Twixt him and Lusian slave, ° the lowest of the low. 

XXXIV 

But ere the mingling bounds have far been passed," 
Dark Guadiana rolls his power along 

In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, 380 

So noted ancient roundelays among. 
Whilome upon his banks did legions throng 
Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splendour drest : 
Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the strong ; 
The Paynim turban and the Christian crest" 385 

Mixed on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts oppressed. 



18 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXXV 

Oh, lo.vely Spain ! renowned romantic land ! 
Where is that standard which Pelagio° bore, 
When Cava's traitor-sire° first called the band 
That dyed thy mountain-streams with Gothic gore ? ° 390 

Where are those bloody banners which of yore 
AVaved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, 
And drove at last the spoilers to their shore 1 
Red gleamed the cross, ° and waned the crescent pale. 
While Afric's echoes thrilled with Moorish matrons' wail. 395 

XXXVI 

Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale ? 
Ah ! such, alas ! the hero's amplest fate ! 
When granite moulders and when records fail, 
A peasant's plaint° prolongs his dubious date. 
Pride ! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate, 400 

See how the Mighty shrink into a song ! 
Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great 1 
Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, 
When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee wrong ? 

XXXVII 

Awake, ye sons of Spain ! awake ! advance ! 405 

Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries. 
But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance. 
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies : 
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts° she flies. 
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar : 410 

In every peal she calls — ' Awake ! arise ! ' 
Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore. 
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore 1 ° 



CANTO FIRST 19 



XXXVIII 



415 



Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note 1 
Sounds not the clang of contiict on the heath 1 
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote, 
Kor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves? — the fires of death, 
The bale-fires fiash on high : — from rock to rock° 
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; 420 

Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 
Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. 

XXXIX 

Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, 
His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, 
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 425 

And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; 
Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon 
Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet 
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ; 
For on this morn° three potent nations meet, 430 

To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. 

XL 

By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see — 
For one who hath no friend, no brother there — 
Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery. 

Their various arms that glitter in the air ! 435 

What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, 
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey ! 
All join the chase, but few the triumph share ; 
The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, 
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. 440 



20 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XLI 

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; 
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies ; 
Tlie shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory ! 
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally 445 

That fights for all, but ever fights in vain. 
Are met — as if at home they could not die — 
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, 
And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. 



XLII 



There shall they rot — Ambition's honoured fools 



Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay ! 
Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools, 
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away 
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way 
Witli human hearts — to what ? — a dream alone. 
Can despots compass aught that hails their sway 1 
Or call with truth one span of earth their own. 
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone 1 

XLIII 

Oh, Albuera ! ° glorious field of grief ! 
As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim pricked his steed. 
Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, 
A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed ! 
Peace to the perished ! may the warrior's meed 
And tears of triumph their reward prolong ! 
Till others fall where other chieftains lead 
Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng. 
And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song. 



45^ 



45: 



CANTO FIRST 21 



XLIV 



Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play 
Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame : 
Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, 470 

Though thousands fall to deck some single name. 
In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim 
Who strike, blest hirelings ! for their country's good 
And die, that living might have pi-oved her shame ; 
Perished, perchance, in some domestic feud, 475 

Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. 

XLV 

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way 
Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued ! 
Yet is she free — the spoiler's wished-for prey ! 
Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude," 480 

Blackening lier lovely domes with traces rude. 
Inevitable hour ! 'Gainst fate to strive 
Where Desolation plants her famished brood 
Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, 
And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive. 485 

XLVI 

But all unconscious of the coming doom 
The feast, the song, the revel here abounds ; 
Strange modes of merriment the hours consume. 
Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds ; 
Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds ; 490 

Here Folly still his votaries inthralls ; 
And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds ; 
Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, 
Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tottering walls. 



22 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XLVII 

Not so the rustic — with his trembling mate 
He hirks, nor casts his heavy eye afar, 
Lest he should view his vineyard desolate, 
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war. 
No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star° 
Fandango twirls his jocund Castanet :° 
Ah, monarchs ! could ye taste the mirth ye mar. 
Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret ; ° 
The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy yet. 

XLVIII 

How carols now the lusty muleteer? 
Of love, romance, devotion is his lay, 
As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, 
His quick bells wildly jingling on the way ? 
No ! as he speeds, he chants ' Viva el R6y ! ' ° 
And checks his song to execrate Godoy,° 
The royal wittol Charles, and curse tlie day 
Wlien first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy, 
And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate joy. 

XLIX 

On yon long, level plain, at distance cro^^^led 
With crags, wliereon those Moorish turrets rest, 
Wide scattered hoof-marks dint the V'Ounded ground ; 
And, scathed by tire, the greensward's darkened vest 
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest : 
Here was the camp, the watch -flame, and the host, 
Here the bold peasants stormed the dragon's nest : 
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast ; 
And points to yonder clitt's, which oft were won and lost. 



CANTO FIRST 23 



And whomsoe'er along the path you meet 
Bears in his cap the badge" of crimson hue, 
Whicli tells you whom to shun and wliom to greet : 
Woe to the man that walks in public view 525 

Without of loyalty this token true : 
Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke ; 
And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue. 
If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke, 
Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's smoke. 530 

LI 

At every turn Morena's dusky heigh t° 

Sustains aloft the battery's iron load ; 

And, far as moi'tal eye can compass siglit. 

The mountain-howitzer, the broken road. 

The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erilowed, 535 

The stationed bands, the never-vacant watch, 

The magazine in rocky durance stowed, 

The bolstered steed beneath the shed of thatch, 

The ball-piled pyramid, the ever blazing match, 

LII 

Portend the deeds to come : ° — but he whose nod 540 

Has tumbled feebler despots fi-om their sway, 
A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod ; 
A little moment deigneth to delay : 
Soon will his legions sweep through these their way ; 
The West must own the Scourger of the world. 545 

Ah ! Spain ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, 
When soars Gaul's Vulture, witli his wings unfurled. 
And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurled. 



24 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 



LIII 



^ 



And must they fall 1 the young, the proud, the brave, 
To swell one bloated Chief s° unwholesome reign ? 550 

No step between submission and a grave? 
The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain 1 
And doth the Power that man adores ordain 
Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal ? 
Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain ? 555 

And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal, 
Tiie Veteran's skill. Youth's fire, and Manhood's heart of steel 1 

LIV 

Is it for this the Spanish maid,° aroused. 
Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, 
And, all unsexed, the anlace hath espoused, 560 

Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war ? 
And she, whom once the semblance of a scar 
Appalled, an owlet's larum chilled with dread. 
Now views the column-scattering bayonet jar. 
The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead 565 

Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread. 

LV 

Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale. 
Oh ! had you known her in her softer hour. 
Marked her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil. 
Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, 570 

Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, 
Her fairy form, with more than female grace. 
Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower 
Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face,° 
Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase. 575 



CANTO FIRST 25 

LVI 

Her lover sinks° — she sheds no ill-timed tear ; 
Her chief is slain — she fills his fatal post ; 
Her fellows flee — she checks their base career ; 
The foe retires — she heads the sallying host : 
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost 1 580 

Who can avenge so well a leader's fall 1 
What maid retrieve when man's flushed hope is lost ? 
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, 
Foiled by a woman's hand, before a battered wall ? 

LVII 

Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, 585 

But formed for all the witching arts of love : 
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, 
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 
'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove. 
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate : 590 

In softness as in firmness far above 
Remoter females, ° famed for sickening prate ; 
^ Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great. 

LVIII 

The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impressed 
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch : 595 

Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest. 
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such : 
Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how much 
Hath Phoebus wooed in vain to spoil her cheek. 
Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch ! 600 

Who round the North for paler dames would seek 1 
How poor their forms appear ! how languid, wan, and weak ! 



26 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LIX 

Match me, ye climes ! which poets love to laud ; 
Match me, ye harems of the land where now 
I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud 605 

Beauties that even a cynic must avow ; 
Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow 
To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind. 
With Spain's dark-glancing daughters — deign to know 
There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, 610 

His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind. 

LX 

Oh, thou Parnassus ! ° whom I now survey, 
Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye, 
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay. 

But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, 615 

In the wild pomp of mountain-majesty ! 
What marvel if I thus essay to sing 1 
The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by 
Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, 619 

Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing._ 

LXI 

Oft have T dreamed of Thee ! whose glorious name 
Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore : 
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas, with shame 
That I in feeblest accents must adore. 

When I recount thy worshippers of yore 625 

I tremble, and can only bend the knee ; 
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, 
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy 
In silent joy to think at last I look on thee ! 



CANTO FIRST 27 

LXII 

Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, 630 

Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, 
Shall I unmoved behold the hallowed scene, 
Which others rave of, though they know it not ? 
Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, 
And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave, 635 

Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, 
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave, 
And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave.° 

LXIII 

Of thee hereafter. — Even amidst my strain 
I turned aside to pay my homage here ; 640 

Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain ; 
Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear ; 
And hailed thee, not perchance without a tear. 
Now to my theme - — but from thy holy haunt 
Let me some remnant, some memorial bear ; 645 

Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, ° 
Nor let thy votary's hope be deemed an idle vaunt. 

LXIV 

But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount, when Greece was young. 
See round thy giant base a brighter choir, 
Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung 650 

The Pythian hynm with more than mortal fire, 
Behold a train more fitting to inspire 
The song of love, tlian Andalusia's maids, 
Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire : 
Ah ! that to these were given such peaceful shades 655 

As Greece can still bestow, though Gloi-y fly her glades. 



28 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXV 

Fair is proud Seville ; let her country boast 
Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days ;° 
But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, 
Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. 
Ah, Vice ! how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! 
While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape 
The fascination of thy magic gaze 1 
A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, 
And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. 

LXVI 

When Paphos fell by Time° — accursed Time ! 
The Queen who conquers all must yield to thee — 
The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime ; 
And Venus, constant to her native sea,° 
To nought else constant, hither deigned to flee. 
And fixed her shrine within these walls of white ; 
Though not to one dome circumscribeth she 
Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, 
A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. 

LXVII 

From morn till night, from night till startled Morn 
Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew. 
The song is heard, the rosy garland worn ; 
Devices quaint, and frolics ever new, 
Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu 
He bids to sober joy that here sojourns : 
Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu 
Of true devotion monkish incense burns. 
And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. 



CAKTO FIRST 29 

LXVIII 

The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest : 
What hallows it upon this Christian shore 1 685 

Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast : 
Hark ! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar ? 
Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore 
Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn ; 
The thronged arena shakes with shouts for more ; 690 

Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, 
Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects to mourn. 

LXIX 

The seventh day this ; ° the jubilee of man. 
London, right well thou know'st the day of prayer : 
Then thy spruce citizen, washed artisan, 695 

And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air : 
Thy coach of Hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, 
And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl ; 
To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair ; ° 
Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, 700 

Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian cliurl, 

LXX 

Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribboned fair, 
Others along the safer turnpike fly. 
Some Richmond-hiir ascend, some scud to Ware, 
And many to the steep of Highgate° hie. 705 

Ask ye, Boeotian shades ! ° the reason why ? 
'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn,° 
Grasped in the holy hand of Mystery, 
In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn. 
And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn. 710 



30 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXI 

All have their fooleries — not alike are thine, 
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea ! 
Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine, 
Thy saint adorers count the rosary : 

Much is the Virgin teased to shrive them free — 715 

Well do I ween the only Virgin there — 
From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be ; 
Then to the crowded circus forth they fare : 
Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion share. 

LXXII 

The lists are oped, the spacious area cleared, ° 720 

Thousands on thousands piled are seated round ; 
Long ere the first load trumpet's note is heard, 
Ne vacant space for lated wight is found : 
Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound. 
Skilled in the ogle of a roguish eye, 725 

Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound ; 
None through their cold disdain are doomed to die, 
As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery. 

LXXIII 

Hushed is the din of tongues — on gallant steeds. 
With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance, 'J2>'^ 
Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds. 
And lowly bending to the lists advance ; 
Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance : 
If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, 
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, 735 

Best prize of better acts, they bear away. 
And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. 



CANTO FIRST 31 

LXXIV 

In costly sheen and gaudy cloak arrayed, 
But all afoot, the light-limbed Matadore 
Stands in the centre, eager to invade 740 

The lord of lowing herds : but not before 
The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, 
Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed : 
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more 
Can man achieve without the friendly steed — 745 

Alas ! too oft condemned for him to bear and bleed. 

LXXV 

Thrice sounds the clarion : lo ! the signal falls, 
The den expands, and expectation mute 
Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. 
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, 750 

And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot. 
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe : 
Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit 
His first attack, wide waving to and fro 
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. 



755 



LXXVI 



Sudden he stops ; his eye is fixed : away, 
Away, thou heedless boy, prepare the spear ! 
Now is thy time to perish, or display 
The skill that yet may check his mad career. 
With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer ; 760 

On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ; 
Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear : 
He flies, he w^heels, distracted with his throes ; 
Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bello wings speak his woes. 



32 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXVII 

Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail, 765 

Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse : 
Though man and man's avenging arms assail, 
Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. 
One gallant steed is stretched a mangled corse ; 
Another, hideous sight ! unseamed appears, 770 

His gory chest unveils life's panting source ; 
Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears ; 
Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharmed he bears. 

LXXVIII 

Foiled, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, 
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, 775 

'Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, 
And foes disabled in the brutal fray : 
And now the Matadores around him play, 
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand : 
Once more through all he bursts his thundering way — 780 
Vain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand. 
Wraps his fierce eye — 'tis past — he sinks upon the sand ! 

LXXIX 

Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, 
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. 
He stops — he starts — disdaining to decline ; 785 

Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries. 
Without a groan, without a struggle dies. 
The decorated car appears — on high 
The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar eyes — 
Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, 790 

Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by. 



CANTO FIRST 33 



Such the imgentle sport that oft invites 
The Spanish maid, and clieers the Spanish swain. 
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights 
In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. 795 

What private feuds the troubled village stain ! 
Though now one phalanxed host should meet the foe. 
Enough, alas ! in humble homes remain, 
To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow. 
For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm stream must 
flow. Soo 

LXXXI 

But Jealousy has fled : his bars, his bolts, 
His withered sentinel, Duenna sage ! 
And all whereat the generous soul revolts, 
Which the stern dotard deemed he could encage, 
Have passed to darkness with the vanished age. 805 

Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen — 
Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage, — 
With braided tresses bounding o'er the green. 
While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving Queen? 

LXXXII 

Oh ! many a time and oft, had Harold loved, 810 

Or dreamed he loved, since rapture is a dream ; 
But now his wayward bosom was unmoved. 
For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream ; 
And lately had he learned° with truth to deem 
Love has no gift so grateful as his wings : Si 5 

How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem. 
Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs 
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubblins: venom flings. 



34 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXXIII 

Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, 
Though now it moved him as it moves the wise ; 820 

Not that Pliilosophy on such a mind 
E'er deigned to bend her chastely-awful eyes : 
But Passion raves itself to rest, or flies. 
And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb. 
Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise : 825 

Pleasure's palled victim ! life-abhorring gloom 
Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom. 



LXXXIV 

Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng ; 
But viewed them not with misanthropic hate : 
Fain would he now have joined the dance, the song ; 830 

But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate? 
Nought that he saw his sadness could abate : 
Yet once he struggled 'gainst the demon's sway. 
And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate, 
Poured forth this unpremeditated lay, 835 

To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier day. 



TO INEZ° 

I 

Nay, smile not at my sullen brow ; 

Alas ! I cannot smile again : 
Yet Heaven avert tliat ever thou 

Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain. 840 



Jl 



CANTO FIRST 35 



II 



And dost thou ask what secret woe 
I bear, corroding joy and youth 1 

And wilt thou vainly seek to know 

A pang, even thou must fail to soothe? 



Ill 



It is not love, it is not hate,° 845 

Nor low Ambition's honours lost, 
That bids me loathe my present state, 

And fly from all I prize the most : 



IV 



It is that weariness which springs 

From all I meet, or hear, or see : 850 

To me no pleasure Beauty brings ; 

Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me. 



It is that settled, ceaseless gloom 

The fobled Hebrew wanderer bore, 
That will not look beyond the tomb, 855 

But cannot hope for rest before. 



VI 

What Exile from himself can flee ? 

To zones though more and more remote,° 
Still, still pursues where'er I be, 

The blight of life — the demon, Thought. S60 



36 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

VII 

Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, 
And taste of all that I forsake ; 

Oh ! may they still of transport dream, 
And ne'er, at least like me, awake ! 



VIII 

Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, 865 

With many a retrospection cursed ; 
And all my solace is to know, 

Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. 



IX 

What is that worst 1 Nay do not ask — 

In pity from the search forbear : 870: 

Smile on — nor venture to unmask 

Man's heart, and view the hell that's there. 



LXXXV 

Adieu, fair Cadiz ! yea, a long adieu ! 
Who may forget how well thy walls have stood ? 
When all were changing thou alone wert true, 875 

First to be free, and last to be subdued : 
And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, 
Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye, 
A traitor® only fell beneath the feud : 
Here all were noble, save Nobility ; 880 

None hugged a conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry ! 



CANTO FIRST 37 



LXXXVI 



Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate ! 
They fight for freedom who were never free, 
A kingless people° for a nerveless state ; 
Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, 885 

True to the veriest slaves of Treachery : 
Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, 
Pride points the path that leads to Liberty ; 
Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife, 
War, war is still the cry, ' War even to the knife ! ' 890 

LXXXVII 

Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know,° 
Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife : 
Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe 
Can act, is acting there against man's life : 
From flashing scimitar to secret knife, 895 

War mouldeth there each weapon to his need — 
So may he guard the sister and the wife. 
So may he make each curst oppressor bleed — 
So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed ! ° 

LXXXVIII 

Flows there a tear of pity for the dead ? 900 

Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain ; 
Look on the hands with female slaughter red ; 
Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain. 
Then to the vulture let each corse remain. 
Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw ; 905 

Let their bleached bones, and blood's unbleaching stain, 
Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe : 
Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw ! 






38 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXXIX 

Nor yet, alas ! the dreadful work is done ; 
Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees : 
It deepens still, the work is scarce begun. 
Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. 
Fallen nations gaze on Spain ; if freed she frees 
More than her fell Pizarros once enchained : 
Strange retribution ! now Columbia's ease° 915 

Repairs the wrongs° that Quito's sons sustained. 
While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder unrestrained. 

xc 

Not all the blood at Talavera° shed, 
Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, ° 

Not Albuera° lavish of the dead, 920 

Have won for Spain her well-asserted right. 
When shall her Olive-Branch be free from blight ? 
When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil ? 
How^ many a doubtful day shall sink in night, 
Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, 925 

And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil ! 

xci 

And thou, my friend ! ° — since unavailing woe 
Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strain — 
Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low 
Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain : 930 

But thus unlaureled to descend in vain, 
By all forgotten, save the lonely breast. 
And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain. 
While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest ! 
What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest 1 935 



CANTO FIRST 39 

XCII 

Oh, known the eadiest, and esteemed the most : 
Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear ! 
Though to my hopeless days for ever lost, 
In dreams deny me not to see thee here ! 
And Morn in secret shall renew the tear 940 

Of Consciousness awaking to her woes, 
And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier, 
Till my frail frame return to whence it rose. 
And mourned and mourner lie united in repose. 



XCIII 

Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgiimage : 945 

Ye who of him may further seek to know. 
Shall find some tidings in a future page. 
If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. 
Is this too much 1 stern critic ! say not so : 
Patience ! and ye shall hear what he beheld 950 

In other lands, where he was doomed to go : 
Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, 
Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands were quelled. 



CANTO SECOND 



Come, blue-eyed maid° of heaven ! — but thou, alas ! 
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire" — 
Goddess of Wisdom ! here thy temple° \\'as, 
And is, despite of war and wasting fire,° 
And years, that bade thy worship to expire : 
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, 
Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire° 
Of men who never felt the sacred glow 
That thoughts of thee and thine on polished breasts bestow. 



Ancient of days ! august Athena ! ° where, n 

Where are thy men of miglit ? thy grand in soul ? 
Gone — glimmering through the dream of things that were 
First in the race that led to Glory's goal. 
They won, and passed away — is this the whole 1 
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour ! i 

The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole 
Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, 
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. 

40 



CANTO SECOND 41 



Son of the morning, rise ! ° approach you here : 
Come — but molest not yon defenceless urn : 20 

Look on this spot — a nation's sepulchre ! ° 
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. 
Even gods must yield — religions take their turn : 
'Twas Jove's — 'tis Mahomet's — and other creeds 
Will rise with other years, till man shall learn 25 

Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; 
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds. 

IV 

Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven — 
Is't not enough, unhappy thing ! to know 
Thou art 1 Is this a boon so kindly given, 30 

That being, thou wouldst be again, and go. 
Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, ° so 
On earth no more, but mingled witli the skies ? 
Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe ? 
Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies : 35 

That little urn saith more than thousand homilies. 



Or burst the vanished Hero's lofty mound f 
Far on the solitary shore he sleeps : 
He fell, and falling nations mourned around ; 
But now not one of saddening thousands weeps, 40 

Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps 
Where demi-gods appeared, as records tell. 
Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps : 
Is that a temple where a God may dwell 1 
Why even the worm at last disdains her shattered cell ! 45 



42 CHILD E HABOLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

VI 

Look on its broken arch, its ruined w<ill,° 
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : 
Yes, this was once Ambition s airy hall, 
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul : 
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, 50 

The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit 
And Passion's host, that never brooked control : 
Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ. 
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ? 

VII 

Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! 55 

'AH that we know is, nothing can be known.' ° 
Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun ? 
Each hath his pang, but feeble sufferers groan 
With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. 
Pursue what Chance or Fate pi-oclaimeth best ; 60 

Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : 
There no forced banquet claims the sated guest. 
But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest. 

vni 

Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be 
A land of souls beyond that sable shore, 65 

To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee° 
And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore ; 
How sweet it were in concert to a.dore° 
With those who made our mortal labours light ! 
To hear each voice we feared to hear no more ! 70 

Behold each mighty shade revealed to sight. 
The Bactrian, Samian° sage, and all who taught the right ! 



CANTO SECOND 43 

IX 

There, thou ! — whose love and life together fled,° 
Have left me here to love and live in vain — 
Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead 75 

When busy Memory Hashes on my brain ? 
Well — I will dream that we may meet again, 
And woo the vision to my vacant breast :° 
If aught of young Remembrance then remain, 
Be as it may Futurity's behest, 80 

For me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest ! 



Here let me sit upon this massy stone, ° 
The marble column's yet unshaken base ; 
Here, son of Saturn ! was thy favourite tlirone : 
Mightiest of many such ! Hence let me trace 85 

The latent grandeur of thy dwelling place. 
It may not be : nor ev'n can Fancy's eye 
Restore what Time hath laboured to deface. 
Yet these proud pillars claim no passing sigh ; 
Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols by. 90 

XI 

But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane° 
On high, where Pallas lingered, loth to Hee 
The latest relic of her ancient reign ; 
The last, the worst, dull spoiler,° who was he? 
Blush Caledonia ! ° such thy son could be ! 95 

England ! I joy no child he was of thine : 
Thy free-born men should spare what once was free ; 
Yet they could violate each saddening shrine. 
And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine. ° 



44 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XII 

But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast loo 

To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath spared : 
Cold as the crags upon his native coast, 
His mind as barren and his heart as hard. 
Is he whose head conceived, whose hand prepared, 
Aught to displace Athena's poor remains : 105 

Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard. 
Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains, 
And never knew, till then, the weight of Despot's chains, 

XIII 

What ! ° shall it e'er be said by British tongue, 
Albion was happy in Athena's tears? no 

Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung. 
Tell not the deed to blushing Europe's ears ; 
The ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears 
The last poor plunder from a bleeding land : 
Yes, she, whose gen'rous aid her name endears, 115 

Tore down those remnants with a harpy's hand. 
Which envious Eld forbore, and tyrants left to stand. 

XIV 

Where was thine ^gis, Pallas ! that appalled° 
Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way ? 
Where Peleus' son 1 whom Hell in vain enthralled, 120 

His shade from Hades upon that dread day 
Bursting to light in terrible an-ay ! 
What ! could not Pluto spare the chief once more, 
To scare a second robber from his prey ? 
Idly he wandered on the Stygian shore, 125 

Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield before. 



CANTO SECOND 45 

XV 

Cold is the heart, fair Greece ! that looks on thee, 
Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved ; 
Dull is the eye that will not weep to see 
Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed 130 

By British hands, which it had best behoved 
To guard those relics ne'er to be restored. 
Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved. 
And once again thy hapless bosom gored, 
And snatched thy shrinking Gods to northern climes ab- 
horred ! 135 

XVI 

But where is Harold ? shall I then forget 
To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave ? 
Little recked he of all that men regret ; 
No loved-one now in feigned lament could rave ; 
No friend the parting hand extended gave 140 

Ere the cold stranger passed to other climes : 
Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave ; 
But Harold felt not as in other times, 
And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes. ° 

XVII 

He that has sailed upon the dark blue sea 145 

Has viewed at times, I ween, a full fair sight ; 
When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, 
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight ; 
Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right, 
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, 150 

The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight, 
The dullest sailer wearing bravely now. 
So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow. 



46 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XVIII 

And oh, the little warlike world within ! 
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy, 155 

The hoarse command, the busy humming din, 
When, at a word, the tops are manned on high ; 
Hark, to the boatswain's call, the cheering cry ! 
While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides ; 
Or schoolboy midshipman that, standing by, 160 

Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides. 
And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. 



XIX 

White is the glassy deck, without a stain. 
Where on the watch the staid lieutenant Walks : 
Look on that part which sacred doth remain 165 

For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks. 
Silent and feared by all — not oft he talks 
With aught beneath liim, if he would preserve 
That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks 
Conquest and fame : but Britons rarely s\verve° 170 

From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve. 

XX 

Blow, swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale, 
Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray ! 
Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail, 
That lagging barks may make their lazy way. 175 

Ah ! grievance sore, and listless dull delay. 
To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze ! 
What leagues are lost, before the dawn of day, 
Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas. 
The flapping sail hauled down to halt for logs like these ! 180 



CANTO SECOND 47 

XXI 

The moon is up ; by Heaven, a lovely eve ! 
Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand ; 
Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe : 
Such be our fate when we return to land ! 
Meantime some rude Arion's° restless hand 185 

Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love ; 
A circle there of merry listeners stand, 
Or to some well-known measure featly move. 
Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove. 

XXII 

Through Calpe's° straits survey the steepy shore ; 190 

Europe and Afric on each other gaze ! 
Lands of the dark eyed maid and dusky Moor 
Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's° blaze : 
How softly on the Spanish shore she plays, 
Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown, 195 

Distinct, though darkening with her waning phase ; 
But Mauritania's giant-shadows frown, 
From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombre down. 

XXIII 

'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feer 
We once have loved, though love is at an end : 200 

The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,° 
Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. 
Who, with the weight of years would wish to bend,° 
When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy ? 
Alas ! when mingling souls forget to blend, 205 

Death hath but little left him to destroy ! 
Ah ! happy years ! once more who would not be a boy ? 



48 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXIV 

Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, 
To gaze on Diau's wave-reflected sphere, 
The soul forgets her schemes of hope and pride, 210 

And flies unconscious o'er each backward year. 
None are so desolate but something dear, 
Dearer than self, possesses or possessed 
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear ; 
A flashing pang ! of which the weary breast 215 

Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. 

XXV 

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,° 
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene. 
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 220 

To climb the trackless mountain all unseen. 
With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; 
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; 
Tliis is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 224 

Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled. 

XXVI 

But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men. 
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, 
And roam along, the world's tired denizen. 
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless ;° 
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress ! 230 

None that, with kindred consciousness endued. 
If we were not, would seem to smile the less, 
Of all that flattered, followed, sought, and sued : 
This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude ! 



CANTO SECOND 49 

XXVII 

More blest the life of godly eremite, 235 

Such as on lonely Athos° may be seen, 
Watching at eve upon the giant height, 
Which looks o'er waves so blue, skies so serene, 
That he who there at such an hour hath been 
Will wistful linger on that hallowed spot ; 240 

Then slowly tear him from the witching scene, 
Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot, 
Then turn to hate a world he had almost forgot. 

XXVIII 

Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track 
Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind ; 245 

Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack. 
And each well-known caprice of wave and wind ; 
Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, 
Cooped in their winged sea-girt citadel ; 
The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind, 250 

As breezes rise and fall and billows swell. 
Till on some jocund morn — lo, land ! and all is well. 

XXIX 

But not in silence pass Calypso's° isles, 
The sister tenants of the middle deep ; 

There for the weary still a haven smiles, 255 

Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep, 
And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep 
For him who dared prefer a mortal bride : 
Here, too, his boy essayed the dreadful leap 
Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide : 260 

While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly sighed. 



50 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXX 

Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone : 
But trust not this ; too easy youth, beware ! 
A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne, 
And thou mayst find a new Calypso there. 265 

Sweet Florence ! ° could another ever share 
This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine : 
But checked by every tie, I may not dare 
To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine. 
Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine. 270 

XXXI 

Thus Harold deemed, as on that lady's eye 
He looked, and met its beam witliout a thought, 
Save admiration glancing harmless by : 
Love kept aloof, albeit not far remote, 

Who knew his votary often lost and caught, 275 

But knew him as his worshipper no more, 
And ne'er again the boy his bosom sought : 
Since now he vainly urged him to adore, 
Well deemed the little God his ancient sway was o'er. 

XXXII 

Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze, 280 

One who, 'twas said, still sighed to all he saw. 
Withstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze, 
Which others hailed with real or mimic awe, 
Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their law. 
All that gay Beauty from her bondsmen claims : 285 

And much she marvelled that a youth so raw 
Nor felt, nor feigned at least, the oft-told flames, 
Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely anger dames. 



CANTO SECOND 51 



XXXIII 



Little knew she that seeming marble lieart,° 
Now masked in silence or withheld by pride, 290 

Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, 
And spread its snares licentious far and wide ; 
Nor from the base pursuit had turned aside, 
As long as aught was worthy to pursue : 
But Harold on such arts no more relied ; 295 

And had he doted on those eyes so blue, 
Yet never would he join the lover's whining crew. 

XXXIV 

Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, 
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs ; 
What careth she for hearts when once possessed ? 300 

Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes ; 
But not too humbly, or she will despise 
Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes ; 
Disguise ev'n tenderness, if thou art wise ; 
Brisk confidence still best with woman copes : 305 

Pique her and soothe in turn, soon Passion crowns thy hopes. 

XXXV 

'Tis an old lesson ; Time approves it true, 
And those who know it best, deplore it most ; 
When all is won that all desire to woo,° ' 

The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost : 310 

Youth wasted, minds degraded, honour lost. 
These are thy fruits, successful Passion ! these ! 
If kindly cruel, early hope is crost. 
Still to the last it rankles, a disease. 
Not to be cured, when love itself forgets to please. 315 



52 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXXVI 

Away ! nor let me loiter in my song, 
For we have many a mountain-path to tread, 
And many a varied shore to sail along, 
By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led — 
Climes, fair withal as ever mortal head 320 

Imagined in its little schemes of thought ; 
Or e'er in new Utopias were ared. 
To teach man what he might be, or he ought; 
If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught. 

XXXVII 

Dear Nature is the kindest mother still,°. 325 

Though alway changing, in her aspect mild ; 
From her bare bosom let me take my fill, 
Her never-weaned, though not her favoured child. 
Oh ! she is fairest in her features wild. 

Where nothing polished dares pollute her path : 330 

To me by day or night she ever smiled, 
Though I have marke<l her when none other hath, 
And sought her more and more, and loved her best in wrath. 

XXXVIII 

Land of Albania ! where Iskander° rose. 
Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise, 335 

And he his namesake, whose oft-baffled foes 
Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprize : 
Land of Albania ! let me bend mine eyes 
On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men ! 
The cross descends, thy minarets arise, 340 

And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen, 
Through many a cypress grove within each city's ken. 



CANTO SECOND 53 

XXXIX 

Childe Harold sailed, and passed the barren spot,° 
Where sad Penelope o'erlooked the wave ; 
And onward viewed the mount, ° not yet forgot, 345 

The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. 
Dark Sappho ! could not verse immortal save 
That breast imbued with such immortal fire 1 
Could she not live who life eternal gave 1 
If life eternal may await the lyre, 
That only heaven to which Earth's children may aspire. 



350 



XL 

'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve 
Childe Harold hailed Leucadia's cape afar ; 
A spot he longed to see, nor cared to leave : 
Oft did he mark the scenes of vanislied war, 355 

Actium, Lepanto, fotal Trafalgar ; ° 
Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight — 
Born beneath some remote inglorious star — 
In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight. 
But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at martial wight. 360 

XLI 

But when he saw the evening star above 
Leucadia's far-projecting rock of woe, 
And hailed the last resort of fruitless love, 
He felt, or deemed he felt, no common glow : 
And as the stately vessel glided slow 365 

Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, 
He watched the billows' melancholy flow, 
And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont,° 
More placid seemed his eye, and smooth his pallid front. 



54 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XLII 

Morn dawns ; and with it stern Albania's hills, 370 

Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak,° 
Robed half in mist, bedewed with snowy rills, 
Arrayed in many a dun and purple streak. 
Arise ; and, as the clouds along them break. 
Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer : 375 

Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak. 
Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear. 
And gathering storms around convulse the closing year. 

XLIII 

Now Harold felt himself at length alone, 
And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu ; 380 

Now he adventured on a shore unknown, ° 
Which all admire, but many dread to view : 
His breast was armed 'gainst fate, his wants were few ; 
Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet ; 
The scene was savage, but the scene was new ; 385 

This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet. 
Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed summer's heat. 

XLIV 

Here the red cross, ° for still the cross is here, 
Though sadly scoffed at by the circumcised. 
Forgets that pride to pampered priesthood dear ; 390 

Churchman and votary alike despised. 
Foul Superstition ! howsoe'er disguised. 
Idol, saint, virgin, prophet, crescent, cross, 
For whatsoever symbol thou art prized. 
Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss ! 395 

Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross ? 



CANTO SECOND Qb 

XLV 

Ambracia's gulf ° behold, where once was lost 
A world for woman,° lovely, harmless thing ! 
In yonder rippling bay, their naval host 
Did many a Roman chief and Asian king 400 

To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring : 
Look where the second Caesar's trophies rose : ° 
Now, like the hands that reared them, withering : 
Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes ! 
God ! was thy globe ordained for such to win and lose 1 ° 405 

XLVI 

From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, 
Even to the centre of Illyria's vales, ° 
Childe Harold passed o'er many a mount sublime, 
Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales ; 
Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales 410 

Are rarely seen ; nor can fair Tempe boast 
A charm they know not ; loved Parnassus fails. 
Though classic ground and consecrated most. 
To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. 

/ XLVII 

He passed bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake,° 415 

And left the primal city of the land,° 
And onwards did his further journey take 
To greet Albania's chief, ° whose dread command 
Is lawless law ; for with a bloody hand 
He sways a nation, turbulent and bold : 420 

Yet here and there some daring mountain-band° 
Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold 
Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. 



56 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XLVIII 

Monastic Zitza ! ° from thy shady brow, 
Thou small, but favoured spot of holy ground ! 425 

Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, 
What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found ! 
Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound. 
And bluest skies that harmonise the whole : 
Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound 430 

Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll 
Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul. 

XLIX 

Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill. 
Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh 
Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, 435 

Might well itself be deemed of dignity. 
The convent's white walls glisten fair on high : 
Here dwells the caloyer, nor rude is he. 
Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by 
Is welcome still, nor heedless will he flee 440 

From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see. 



Here in the sultriest season let him rest, 
Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees ; 
Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast. 
From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze : 445 

The plain is far beneath — oh ! let him seize 
Pure pleasure while he can ; the scorching ray 
Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease ; 
Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay. 
And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. 450 



CANTO SECOND 



Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, 
Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, 
Chimsera's alps extend from left to right : ° 
Beneath, a living valley seems to stir ; 

Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-fir 455 
Nodding above ; behold black Acheron, 
Once consecrated to the sepulchre ! 
Pluto, if this be hell I look upon. 
Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none ! 

LII 

Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view ; 460 

Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, 
Veiled by the screen of liills : here men are few, 
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot : 
But peering down each precipice, the goat 
Browseth ; and, pensive o'er his scattered flock, 465 

The little shepherd in his white capote 
Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, 
Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock. 

y LIII 

Oh, where, Dodona,° is thine aged grove. 
Prophetic fount, and oracle divine ? 470 

What valley echoed the response of Jove ? 
What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's shrine ? 
All, all forgotten — and shall man repine 
That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke ? 
Cease, fool ! the fate of gods may well be thine : 475 

Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak ? 
When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke. 



58 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LIV 

Epims' bounds recede, and mountains fail ; 
Tired of upgazing still, the wearied eye 

Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale 480 

As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye : 
Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie, 
Where some bold river breaks the lone expanse, 
And woods along the banks are waving high, 
Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, 485 

Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. 

LV 

The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit,° 
And Laos° wide and fierce came roaring by ; 
The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, 
AVhen, down the steep banks winding warily, 490 

Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, 
The glittering minarets of Tepalen,° 
Whose walls o'erlook the stream ; and drawing nigh, 
He heard the busy hum of warrior-men 
Swelling the breeze that sighed along the lengthening glen. 495 

LVI 

He passed the sacred Haram's silent tower,° 
And underneath the wide o'erarching gate 
Surveyed the dwelling of this chief of power. 
Where all around proclaimed his high estate. 
Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, 500 

While busy preparation shook the court, 
Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait ; 
Within a palace, and without, a fort : 
Here men of every clime appear to make resort. 



CANTO SECOND 59 

LVII 

Richly caparisoned, a ready row 505 

Of armed horse, and many a warlike store. 
Circled the wide extending court below ; 
Above, strange groups adorned the corridore ; 
And oft-times through the area's echoing door. 
Some high-capped Tartar spurred his steed away : 510 

The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, 
Here mingled in their many-hued array, 
While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day. 

LVIII 

The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, 

With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, 515 

And gold-embroidered garments, fair to see : 
The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon ; 
The Delhi with his cap of terror on,° 
The crooked glaive ; the lively, supple Greek ; 
And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son ; ° 520 

The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak. 
Master of all around, too potent to be meek, 

LIX 

Are mixed conspicuous : some recline in groups. 
Scanning the motley scene that varies round ; 
There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, 525 

And some that smoke, and some that play are found ; 
Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground : 
Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate ; 
Hark ! from tlie mosque the nightly solemn sound. 
The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, ° 530 

' There is no god but God ! — to prayer — lo ! God is great ! ' 



53b 



60 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGIUjIAGE 

LX 

Just at this season Raraazani's fast° 
Through the long day its penance did maintain ; 
But when the lingering twilight hour was past, 
Revel and feast assumed the rule again : 
Now all was bustle, and the menial train 
Prepared and spread the plenteous board within ; 
The vacant gallery now seemed made in vain. 
But from the chambers came the mingling din, 
As page and slave anon were passing out and in. 540 

LXI 

Here woman's voice is never heard : apart, 
And scarce permitted, guarded, veiled, to move, 
She yields to one her person and her heart, 
Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove : 
For, not unhappy in her master's love, 545 

And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, 
Blest cares ! all other feelings far above ! 
Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, 
Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares. ° 

LXII 

In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring 550 

Of living water from the centre rose. 
Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling. 
And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, 
Ali reclined, a man of war and woes : ° 
Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, 555 

While Gentleness her milder radiance throws 
Along that aged venerable face, 
The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace. 



CANTO SECOND 61 

LXIII 

It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard 
111 suits the passions which belong to youth ; 560 

Love conquers age — so Hafiz° hath averred, 
So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth — 
But crimes that scorn the tender voice of ruth, 
Beseeming all men ill, but most the man 
In years, have marked him with a tiger's tooth ; 565 

Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span, 
In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. 

LXIV 

'Mid many things most new to ear and eye° 
The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, 

And gazed around on Moslem luxury, 570 

Till quickly wearied witli that spacious seat 
Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat 
Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise : 
And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet ; 
But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, 575 

And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. 

LXV 

Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack 
Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. 
Where is the foe that ever saw their back ? 
Who can so well the toil of war endure ? 580 

Their native fastnesses not more secure 
Than they in doubtful time of troublous need : 
Their wrath how deadly ! but their friendship sure, 
When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed. 
Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead, 585 



62 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXVI 

Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower 
Thronging to war in splendour and success ; 
And after viewed tliem, when, within their power, 
Himself awhile the victim of distress ;° 

That saddening liour when bad men hotlier press ; 590 

But these did shelter him beneath their roof, 
When less barbarians would have cheered him less. 
And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof° — 
In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof. 



595 



LXVII 

It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bai*k 
Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore,° 
When all around was desolate and dark ; 
To land was perilous, to sojourn more ; 
Yet for a while the mariners forbore, 

Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk : 600 

At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore 
That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk 
Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work. 

LXVIII 

Vain fear ! the Suliotes stretched the welcome hand. 
Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, 605 

Kinder than polished slaves though not so bland, 
And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp, 
And filled the bowl, and trimmed the cheerful lamp, 
And spread their fare ; though homely, all they had : 
Such conduct bears philanthropy's rare stamp — 610 

To rest the weary and to soothe the sad, 
Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad. 



CANTO SECOND 63 

LXIX 

It came to pass, that when he did address 
Himself to quit at length this mountain-land, 
Combined marauders half-way barred egress, 615 

And wasted tar and near with glaive and brand ; 
And therefore did he take a trusty band 
To traverse Acarnania's forest wide, 
In war well seasoned, and with labours tanned, 
Till he did greet white Achelous' tide,° 620 

And from his further bank ^tolia's wolds espied. 

LXX 

Where lone Utraikey° forms its circling cove, 
And weary waves retire to gleam at rest, 
How brown the foliage of the green hill's grove. 
Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast, 625 

As winds come lightly whispering from the west. 
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene : — 
Here Harold was received a welcome guest ; 
Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene. 
For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence glean. 630 

LXXI 

On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed. 
The feast was done, the red wine circling fast, 
And he that unawares had there ygazed 
With gaping wonderment had stared aghast ; 
For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past, 635 

The native revels of the troop began ; 
Each Palikar his sabre from him cast. 
And bounding hand in hand, man linked to man, 
Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled clan.° 



64 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXII 

Chikle Harold at a little distance stood 640 

And viewed, but not displeased, the revelrie, 
Nor hated liarmless mirth, however rude : 
In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see 
Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee ; 
And, as the flames along their flices gleamed, 645 

Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flasliing free, 
The long wild locks that to their girdles streamed, 
While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half screamed : ° — 



Tambourgi ! Tambourgi ! ° thy 'larum afar 
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war; 650 

All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, 
Chimariot,° Illyrian, and dark Suliote ! 



Oh, who is more brave than a dark Suliote, 

In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote ? 

To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock, 655 

And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. 



Shall the sons of Cliimari, who never forgive 

The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live ? 

Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego ? 

What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe ? 660 



Macedonia sends forth her invincible race ; 

For a time they abandon the cave and the chase : 



CANTO SECOND 65 

But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before 
The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. 



Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, 665 

And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, 
Sliall leave on the beach the \ox\g galley and oar, 
And track to his covert the captive on shore. 



I ask not the pleasures that riches supply ; 
My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy, 670 

Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair, 
And many a maid fi'om her mother shall tear. 



I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, 

Her caresses shall lull me, her music sliall soothe ; 

Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre, 67= 

And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. 



Remember the moment when Previsa fell,° 

The shrieks of the conquered, the conquerors' yell ; 

Tlie roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, 

The wealthy we slaughtered, the lovely we spared. 680 



I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear ; 
He neither must know who would serve the Vizier : 
Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw 
A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 



66 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 



Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, 685 

Let the yellow-haired Giaours° view his liorsetair with dread ; 
When his Delhis come dashing in blood o'er the banks 
How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks ! 



Selictar ! unsheathe then our chief's scimitar : 

Tambourgi ! thy 'larum gives promise of war. 690 

Ye mountains, that see us descend to the sliore, 

Shall view us as victors, or view us no more ! 

LXXIII 

Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth \° 
Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, great ! 
Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth, 695 

And long accustomed bondage uncreate 1 
Not such thy sons who whilome did await, 
The hopeless warriors of a willing doom. 
In bleak Thermopyla3's sepulchral strait — 
Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume, 700 

Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb 1 

LXXIV 

Spirit of freedom ! when on Pliyle's brow° 
Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, 
Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now 
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? 705 

Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain. 
But every carle can lord it o'er thy land ; 
Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain. 
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish liand ; 
From birth till death enslaved ; in word, in deed unmanned. ;io 



CANTO SECOND 67 

LXXV 

In all save form alone, how changed ! and who 
That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, 
"Who but would deem their bosoms burned anew 
With thy uiKiuenchcd beam, lost Liberty ! 
And many dream withal the hour is nigh 715 

That gives tliem back tlieir father's lieritage : 
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, 
Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, 
Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page. 

LXXVI 

Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not 720 

Wlio would be free themselves must strike the blow ? 
By their right arms the conquest nuist be wrought? 
Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye?° no ! 
True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, 
But not for you will Freedom's altars fiame. 725 

Shades of the Helots ! ° triumph o'er your foe ! 
Greece ! change thy lords, thy state is still the same ; 
Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thy years of shame. 

LXXVII 

The city° won for Allah from the Giaour,° 
The Giaour from Othman's race° again may wrest ; 730 

And the Serai's impenetrable tower° 
Receive the fiery Frank her former guest ; 
Or Wahab's rebel broo(r who (hired divest 
The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil, 
May wind their path of blood along the W^est ; 735 

But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil, 
But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil. 



68 CUILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXVIII 

Yet mark their mirth — ere lenten days begin, 
That penance which their holy rites prepare 
To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin, 740 

By daily abstinence and nightly prayer ; 
But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear, 
Some days of joy au nee are decreed to all, 
To take of pleasaunce each his secret share, 
In motley robe to dance at masking ball, 745 

And join the mimic train of merry Carnival. 

LXXIX 

And whose more rife with merriment than thine. 
Oh Stamhoul ! ° once the empress of their reign ? 
Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine,° 
And Greece her very altars eyes in vain : — 750 

Alas ! her woes will still pervade my strain ! — 
Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng. 
All felt the common joy they now must feign. 
Nor oft I've seen such sight, nor heard such song. 
As wooed the eye, and thrilled the Bosphorus along. 755 

LXXX 

Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore ; 
Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone. 
And timely echoed back the measured oar. 
And rippling waters made a pleasant moan : 
The Queen of tides on high consenting shone, 760 

And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave, 
'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne, 
A brighter glance her form reflected gave, 
Till sparkling billows seemed to light the banks they lave. 



CANTO SECOND 69 

LXXXI 

Glanced many a light caique along the foam, 765 

Danced on the shore the daughters of the land, 
Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home, 
While many a languid eye and thrilling hand 
Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand, 
Or gently prest, returned the pressure still : 770 

Oh Love ! young Love ! bound in thy rosy band, 
Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, 
These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill ! 

LXXXII 

But, midst the throng in merry masquerade. 
Lurk there no hearts that throb witli secret pain, 775 

Even through the closest searment half betrayed 1 
To such the gentle murmurs of the main 
Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain ; 
To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd 
Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain : 78° 

How do they loathe the laughter idly loud. 
And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud ! 

Lxxxni 

This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece, 
If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast : 
Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace, 785 

The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost, 
Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost. 
And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword : 
Ah ! Greece ! they love thee least who owe thee most — 
Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record 79° 

Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde ! 



70 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXXIV 

When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood, ° 
When Thebes Epaminondas rears again, 
When Athens' children are with liearts endued, 
When Grecian mothers sliall give birth to men, 795 

Then mayst thou be restored, but not till then. 
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state ; 
An hour may lay it in the dust : and when 
Can man its shattered splendour renovate. 
Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate ? 800 

LXXXV 

And yet how lovely in thine age of woe,° 
Land of lost gods and gotUike men, art thou ! 
Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow. 
Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now : 
Thy tanes, thy temples to thy surface bow, 805 

Commingling slowly with heroic earth, 
Broke by the share of every rustic plough : 
So pei'ish monuments of mortal birth. 
So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; 

LXXXVI 

Save where some solitary column mourns 810 

Above its prostrate brethren of the cave ; 
Save where Tritonia's airy shrine° adorns 
Colonna's clitf, and gleams along the wave ; 
Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave. 
Where the gray stones and unmolested grass 815 

Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave ; 
Wliile strangers only not regardless pass, 
Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze and sigh * Alas ! ' 



CANTO SECOND 71 

LXXXVII 

Y(>t ,'in! tliy skies as l)luo, tliy crapes as wild ; 
Sw(;et an; tliy groves, and vei-daut are tliy fields, 820 

Tliiiie olive" ripe as when Mincu'va smihsd, 
And still liis honied wcidtli Hyniettus yields ;° 
Tiien; the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, 
The fnuiborn wandc^nu" of thy niountain-air ; 
Apollo still thy long, long suniiner gilds, 825 

Still in his b(!ani M(!nd(!li's niai'])les'^ glare ; 
Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. 

LXXXVIII 

Where'er wc tread 'tis haunted, holy ground ; 
No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, 
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 830 

And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, 
Till the sense aehcs with gazing to behold 
Tiie seenes our earliest dreams have dwelt u})on ; 
Each hill and dale, each de(^])ening glen ;ind wold 
Defies the power which eruslmd thy temples gone: 835 

Ag^", shakes Athena's tower, ° but spares gray Maratiion.° 

LXXXIX 

The sun, the soil, but not the sl.ave, the same ; 
Unchanged in all except its foreign lord, 
l^reserves alike its bounds and boundless fame 
The JJattle-ficdd where Persia's victim horde 840 

First bowed beneath the brunt of H(^llas' sword. 
As on the morn to distant Glory dear. 
When Marathon bccauie a magic word ; 
Whic'h uttered, to the hearer's eye appear 
The camp, the host, the fi^ht, the conqueror's career, 8^5 



72 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XC 

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ; 
The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ; 
Mountains above, ° Earth's, Ocean's plain below : 
Death in the front, Destruction in the rear ! 
Such was the scene — what now remaineth here 1 850 

What sacred trophy marks the hallowed ground. 
Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear 1 
The rifled urn, the violated mound, 
The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spurns around. 

xci 

Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past° 855 

Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng; 
Long shall the voyager, with the Ionian blast, 
Hail the bright clime of battle and of song ; 
Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore ; 860 

Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! 
Which sages venerate and bards adore. 
As Pallas and the Muse unveiled their awful lore. 



XCII 

The parted bosom clings to wonted home,° 
If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth ; 865 

He that is lonely, hither let him roam, 
And gaze complacent on congenial earth. 
Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth : 
But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, 
And scarce regret the region of his birth, 870 

When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, 
Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died. 



CANTO SECOND 73 

XCIII 

Let such approach this consecrated land 
And pass in peace along the magic waste ; 
But spare its relics — let no busy hand 875 

Deface the scenes, already how defaced ! 
Not for such purpose were these altars placed : 
Revere the remnants nations once revered : 
So may our country's name be undisgraced, 
So mayst thou prosper where thy youth was reared, 8S0 

By every honest joy of love and life endeared ! 

xciv 

For tliee, who thus in too protracted song 
Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays,° 
Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng 
Of louder minstrels in these later days : 885 

To such resign the strife for fading bays — 
111 may such contest now the spirit move 
Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise. 
Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, 
And none are left to please when none are left to love. 890 

xcv 

Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one ! 
Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me ; 
Who did for me what none beside have done. 
Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. 
What is my being ? thou hast ceased to be ! 895 

Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home. 
Who mourns o'er hours which we no more will see — 
Would they had never been, or were to come ! 
Would he had ne'er returned to find fresh cause to roam ! 



74 CHILDE HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE 

XCVI 

Oh ! ever loving, lovely, and beloved ! 900 

How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past, 
And clings to thoughts now better far removed ! 
But time shall tear thy shadow from me last. 
All tliou couldst have of mine, stern Death ! thou hast; 
The parent, friend, and now the more than friend :° 905 

Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so ftist, 
And grief with grief continuing still to blend, 
Hath snatched the little joy that life had yet to lend. 

XCVII 

Then must I plunge again into the crowd,, 
And follow all that Peace disdains to seek 1 910 

Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, 
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, 
To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak ; 
Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, 
To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ? 915 

Smiles from the channel of a future tear. 
Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. 

XCVIII 

What is the worst of woes that wait on age 1 ° 
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow ? 
To view each loved one blotted from life's page, 920 

And be alone on earth, as I am now. 
Before the Chastener humbly let me bow, 
O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroyed : 
Roll on, vain days ! full reckless may ye flow, 
Since time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoyed, 925 

And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloyed. 



CANTO THIRD 



Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! 
Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? ° 
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, 
And then we parted, — not as now we part. 
But with a hope. — 

Awaking with a start. 
The waters heave around me ; and on high 
The winds lift up their voices : I depart. 
Whither I know not ; but the hour's gone by, 
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye. 

II 

Once more upon the waters ! yet once more ! 
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed° 
That knows his rider. Welcome, to the roar ! 
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! 
Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed, 
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale. 
Still must I on ; for I am as a weed. 
Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam to sail 
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath pi-evail. 

75 



76 CHILBE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

III 

In my youth's summer I did sing of One, 20 

The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind ; ° 
Again I seize the theme, then but begun. 
And bear it with me, as the rushing wind 
Bears the cloud onwards : in that Tale I find 
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, 25 

Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind, 
O'er which all heavily the journejring years 
Plod the last sands of life, — where not a flower appears. 

IV 

Since my young days of passion — joy, or pain. 
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string, 30 

And both may jar : it may be, that in vain 
I would essay as I have sung to sing. 
Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling ; 
So that it wean me from the weary dream 
Of selfish grief or gladness — so it fling 35 

Forgetfulness around me — it shall seem 
To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. 



He, w^ho grown aged in this world of woe,° 
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, 
So that no wonder waits him ; nor below 40 

Can love or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife. 
Cut to his heart again with the keen knife 
Of silent, sharp endurance : he can tell 
Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife 
With airy images, and shapes wliich dwell 45 

Still unimpaired, though old, in the soul's haunted cell. 



CANTO THIRD 77 



VI 



'Tis to create, and in creating live 
A being more intense, that we endow 
With form our fancy, gaining as we give 
The life we image, even as I do now. 50 

What am 1 1 Nothing ; but not so art thou, 
Soul of my thought ! with whom I traverse earth, 
Invisible but gazing, as I glow 
Mixed with thy spirit, blended with thy birth. 
And feeling still with thee in my crushed feelings' dearth. 55 

VII 

Yet must I think less wildly : — I have thought 
Too long and darkly, till my brain became, 
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, 
A whirling gidf of phantasy and flame ; 
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, 60 

My springs of life were poisoned. ° 'Tis too late ! 
Yet am I changed ; though still enough the same 
In strength to bear what time can not abate, 
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.° 

VIII 

Something too much of this : — but now 'tis past, 65 

And the spell closes with its silent seal. 
Long absent Harold re-appears at last ; 
He of the breast which fain no more would feel, 
Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal ; ° 
Yet Time, who changes all, had altered him ;o 

In soul and aspect as in age : years steal 
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb ; 
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. 



78 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

IX 

His had been quaffed too quickly, and he found 
The dregs were wormwood ; but he filled again, 75 

And from a purer fount, on holier ground, 
And deemed its spring perpetual ; but in vain ! 
Still round him clung invisibly a chain 
Which galled for ever, fettering though unseen, 
And heavy though it clanked not ; worn with pain, 80 

Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, 
Entering with every step he took through many a scene. 



Secure in guarded coldness, he had mixed, 
Again in fancied safety with his kind. 

And deemed his spirit now so firmly fixed 85 

And sheathed with an invulnerable mind. 
That, if no joy, no sorrow lurked behind ; 
And he, as one, might 'midst the many stand 
Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find 
Fit speculation ; such as in strange land 90 

He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's hand.° 

XI 

But who can view the ripened rose, nor seek 
To wear it 1 who can curiously behold 
The smoothness and the sheen of Beauty's cheek, 
Nor feel the heart can never all grow old 1 95 

Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold 
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb ? 
Harold, once more within the vortex, rolled 
On with the giddy circle, chasing Time, 
Yet with a nobler aim than iu his youth's fond prime. 100 



CANTO THIRD 79 

XII 

But soon he knew himself the most unfit 
Of men to herd with man ; with whom he held 
Little in common ; untaught to submit 
His thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled 
In youth by his own thoughts ; still uncompelled, 105 

He would not yield dominion of his mind 
To spirits against whom his own rebelled ; 
Proud though in desolation ; which could find 
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind. ° 

XIII 

Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends; no 
Where rolled the ocean, thereon was his home ; 
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, 
He had the passion and the power to roam ; 
The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, 
Were unto him companionship ; they spake 115 

A mutual language, clearer than the tome 
Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake 
For Nature's pages glassed by sunbeams on the lake.° 

XIV 

Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars. 
Till he had peopled them with beings bright 120 

As tlieir own beams ; and earth, and earth-born jars. 
And human frailties were forgotten quite : 
Could he have kept his spirit to that flight 
He had been happy ; but this clay will sink 
Its spark immortal, envying it the light 125 

To which it mounts, as if to break the link 
That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink. ° 



80 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XV 

But in man's dwellings he became a thing 

Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, 
' Drooped as a wild-born falcon with dipt wing, 130 

To whom the boundless air alone were home : 

Then came liis fit again, wdiich to o'ercome. 

As eagerly the barred-up bird will beat 

His breast and beak against his wiry dome 

Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat 135 

Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat. 

XVI 

Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again. 
With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom; 
The very knowledge that he lived in vain, 
That all was over on this side the tomb, 140 

Had made Despair a smilingness assume. 
Which, though 'twere wild, — as on the plundered wreck 
When mariners would madly meet their doom 
With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck, — 
Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.° 145 

XVII 

Stop ! — for thy tread is on an Empire's dust ! ° 
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! 
Is the spot marked with no colossal bust 1 ° 
Nor column trophied for triumphal show 1 
None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, 150 

As the gi'ound was before, thus let it be ; 
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! 
And is this all the world has gained by thee. 
Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory. 



CANTO THIRD 81 



XVIII 



And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, 155 

Tho grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ! 
How in an hour the power which gave annuls 
Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too ! 
In ' pride of place ' ° here last the eagle flew, 
Tlien tore with bloody talon the rent plain, 160 

Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through ; 
Ambition's life and labours all were vain ; 
He wears the shattered links of the world's broken chain. 



XIX 

Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit° 
And foam in fetters, — but is Earth more free ? 165 

Did nations combat to make One submit ; 
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? 
What ! shall reviving Thraldom again be 
The patched-up idor of enlightened days 1 
Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we 170 

Pay the Wolf homage 1 proffering lowly gaze 
And servile knees to thrones 1 No ; pyove before ye praise. 

XX 

If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more ! 
In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with hot tears 
For Europe's flowers ° long rooted up before 175 

The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain years 
Of death, depopidation, bondage, fears, 
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord 
Of roused-up millions ; all that most endears 
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword° 180 

Such as Harmodius drew on Athens' tyrant lord. 



82 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXI 

There was a sound of revelry by night,° 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; 1S5 

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage bell ; 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! 190 

XXII 

Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 'twas but the wind 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet — 195 

But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

XXIII 

Within a windowed niche of that high hall 200 

Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; ° he did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival. 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; 
And when they smiled because he deemed it near, 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well 205 

Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell ; 
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 



CANTO THIRD 83 

XXIV 

All ! then and there was Imrrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 210 

And eheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
Antl there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 215 

If ever more should meet those nuitual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! 

XXV 

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
Tlie nuistering S(piadron, and the clattering car. 
Went pouring forward with impetuous si)eed, 220 

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 
Ami the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 225 

Or whispering, with white lips — ' The foe ! They come ! 
they come ! ' 

XXVI 

And wild and high the ' Cameron's gathering ' ° rose. 
The war-note of Lochicl,° which Albyn's hills° 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ! 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 230 

Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears !° 235 



84 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXVII 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, ° 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the unreturning brave, — ahis ! 

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 240 

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valour, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 

XXVIII 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 245 

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 
The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 250 

The earth is covered thick with other clay. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent. 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 

XXIX 

Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than mine ;° 
Yet one I would select from that proud throng, 255 

Partly because they blend me with his line. 
And partly that I did his sire some wrong, 
And partly that bright names will hallow song ; 
And his was of the bravest, and when showered 
The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along, 260 

Even where the thickest of war's tempest lowered. 
They reached no nobler breast than thine, young gallant Howard ! ° 



CANTO rilIRD 85 

XXX 

There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee,° 
And mine were nothing, had I such to give ; 
But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree,° 265 

Wliich living waves where thou didst cease to live, 
And saw around me the wide field revive 
Witii fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring 
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, 
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 270 

I turned from all she brought to those she could not bring. 

XXXI 

I turned to thee, to thousands, of whom each 
And one as all a ghastly gap did make 
In his own kind and kindred, wliom to teach 
Forgetfulness were mercy for tlieir sake; 275 

The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, nuist awake 
Those whom they thirst for ; though the sound of Fame 
May for a moment soothe, it cainiot slake 
The fever of vain longing, and the name 
So honoured but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. 280 

XXXII 

They mourn, but smile at length ; and, smiling, mourn : 
The tree will wither long before it fall ; 
The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn ; 
The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall 
In massy hoariness ; the ruined wall 285 

Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone ; 
The bars survive the captive they enthral : 
The day drags througli, though storms keep out the sun j 
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on : 



86 CHILDE HAROLiys VILUIUMAGE 

XXXIII 

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass 290 

In every fragment multiplies ; and makes 
A thousand images of one that was, 
The same, and still the more, the more it breaks ; 
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, 
Living in shattered guise ; and still, and cold, 295 

And bloodless with its sleepless sorrow aches, 
Yet withers on till all without is old. 
Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. 

XXXIV 

Tliere is a very life in our despair. 

Vitality of poison, ° — a quick root 300 

Which feeds these deadly branches ; for it were 
As nothing did we die ; but Life will suit° 
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, 
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, 
All ashes to the taste. Did man compute 305 

Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er 
Such hours 'gainst years of life, say, would he name threescore 1 

XXXV 

The Psalmist numbered out the years of man : 
They are enough ; and if thy tale be irue, 
Thou who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, 310 

More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! 
Millions of tongues record thee, and anew 
Their children's lips shall echo them, and say — 
' Here, where the sword unite<l nations drew, 
Our countrymen were warring on that day ! ' 315 

And this is much, and all which will not pass away.° 



CANTO THIRD 87 

XXXVI 

There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men,° 
Whose spirit, antithetically niixt. 
One moment of the mightiest, and again 
On little objects with like firmness tixed ; 320 

Extreme in all things ! liadst thou been betwixt 
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been ; 
For daring made thy rise as fall : thou seek'st 
Even now to reassume the imperial mien, 
And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene ! 325 

XXXVII 

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou ! 
She trembles at thee still, and tliy wild name 
Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now 
Tliat thou art nothing, save the jest of fame. 
Who wooed thee once, thy vassal, and became 330 

The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert 
A god unto thyself; nor less the same 
To the astounded kingdoms all inert 
Who deemed thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert. 

XXXVIII 

Oh, more or less than man — in high or low, 335 

Battling with nations, flying from the field ; 
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now 
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield ; 
An empire thou eouldst crush, command, rebuild, 
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, 340 

However deeply in men's spirits skilled. 
Look through thine own, nor curb the hist of war, 
Nor learn that tempted fate will leave the loftiest star, 



88 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXXIX 

Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning tide 
With that untaught innate philosophy, 345 

Which, ° be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, 
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. 
When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, 
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled 
With a sedate and all-enduring eye ; — 350 

When fortune fled her spoiled and ftivourite child, 
He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled. 

XL 

Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them 
Ambition steeled thee on too far to show 
That just habitual scorn, which could contemn 355 

Men and their thoughts ; 'twas wise to feel, not so 
To wear° it ever on thy lip and brow. 
And spurn the instruments thou wert to use 
Till they were turned unto thine overthrow ; 
'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ; 360 

So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose. 

XLI 

If, like a tower upon a headlong rock. 
Thou hast been made to stand or fall alone. 
Such scorn of man had helped to brave the shock ; 364 

But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy throne. 
Their admiration thy best weapon shone; 
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then — 
Unless aside thy purple had been thrown — 
Like stern Diogenes to mock at men ; 
For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den.° 370 



CANTO TlllRl) 89 

XLII 

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, 
And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire 
And motion of the soul wliieh will not dwell 
In its own narrow being, but aspire 

Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; 375 

And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, 
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire 
Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, 
Fatal to him who bears, to all wdio ever bore. 

XLIII 

This makes the madmen who have made men mad 380 

By their contagion ; conquerors and kings, 
Founders of sects and systems, to whom add 
Sophists, bards, statesmen, all unquiet things 
Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, 
And are themselves the fools to those tliey fool ; 3S5 

Envied, yet how unenviable ! what stings 
Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school 
Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule : ° 



XLIV 

Their breath is agitation, and their life 

A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, 390 

And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, 
That should their days, surviving perils past, 
Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast 
With sorrow and supineness, and so die ; 
Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste 395 

With its own flickering, or a sword laid by 
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. 



90 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XLV 

He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find 
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; 
He who surpasses or subdues mankind, 400 

Must look down on the hate of those below. 
Though high above the sun of glory glow, 
And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
Contending tempests on his naked head, 405 

And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. 

XLVI 

Away with these ! true Wisdom's world will be 
Within its own creation, or in tliine, 
Maternal Nature ! ° for who teems like thee. 
Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine ? 410 

There Harold gazes on a work divine, 
A blending of all beauties ; streams and dells. 
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine, 
And chiefless castles breathing stern forewells 
From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. 415 

XLVII 

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, 
AVorn, but unstooping to the baser crowd. 
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind. 
Or holding dark communion with the cloud. 
There was a day when they were young and proud ; 420 

Banners on high, and battles passed below ; 
But they who fought are in a bloody shroud. 
And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, 
And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. 



CANTO THIRD 91 



XLVIII 



Beneath these battlements, within those walls, 425 

Power dwelt amidst her passions ; in proud state 
Eac^h robber chief upheld his armed halls, 
Doing his evil will, nor less elate 
Than mightier heroes of a longer date. 

What want these outlaws conquerors should have 430 

But history's purchased page to call them great 1 
A wider space, an ornamented grave ? 
Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. 

XLIX 

In their baronial feuds and single fields, 
What deeds of prowess unrecorded died ! ° 435 

And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields. 
With emblems well devised by amorous pride. 
Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide ; 
But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on 
Keen contest and destruction near allied, 440 

And many a tower for some fair mischief won, 
Saw the discoloured Rhine beneath its ruin run. 



But thou, exulting and abounding river ! 
Making thy waves a blessing as they flow 
Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever 445 

Could man but leave thy bright creation so, 
Nor its fair promise from the surface mow 
With the sharp scythe of conflict, — then to see 
Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know 
Earth paved like heaven ; and to seem such to me 450 

Even now what wants thy stream 1 — that it should Lethe be. 



92 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LI 

A thousand battles have assailed thy banks, 
But these and half their fame have pnssed away, 
And Slaughter heaped on high his weltering ranks; 
Their very graves are gone, and what are they 1 455. 

Thy tide washed down the blood of yesterday, 
And all was stainless, and on thy elear stream 
Glassed, with its dancing ligiit, the sunny ray ; 
But er the blackened memory's blighting dream 
Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem. 460 

LII 

Thus Harold inly said, and passed along, 
Yet not insensible to all which here 
Awoke the jocund birds to early song 
In glens which might have made even exile dear : 
Though on his brow were graven lines austere 465 

And tranquil sternness, which had ta'en the place 
Of feelings fierier far but less severe, 
Joy was not always abs(3nt from his face, 
But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient trace. 



LIII 

Nor was all love shut from him, though his days 470 

Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. 
It is in vain that we would coldly gaze 
On such as smile upon us ; the heart must 
Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust 
Hath weened it from all worldlings : thus he felt, 475 

For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust° 
In one fond breast, to which his own would melt. 
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. 



CANTO THIRD 93 



LIV 



, And he liad learned to love,° — I know not why, 

For this in such as him seems strange of mood, — 480 

The helpless looks of blooming infancy, 

Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued. 

To change like this, a mind so far imbued 

With scorn of man, it little boots to know ; 

But thus it was ; and though in solitude 485 

Small power the nipped affections iiave to grow. 
In him this glowed when all beside had ceased to glow. 

LV 

And there was one soft breast, as hath been said. 
Which unto his was bound by stronger ties 
Than the churcli links withal ; and, though unwed, 490 

That love was pure, and, far above disguise, 
Had stood the test of mortal enmities 
Still undivided, and cemented more 
By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ; 

But this was firm, and from a foreign shore 495 

Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour ! 



The castled crag of Drachenfels° 

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 

Whose breast of waters broadly swells 

Between the banks which bear the vine, 500 

And hills all rich with blossomed trees. 

And fields which promise corn and wine. 

And scattered cities crowning these. 

Whose far white walls along them shine. 

Have strewed a scene, which I should see 505 

With double joy wert thoa with me. 



94 CHILD E HA HOLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

II 

And peasant girls with dark blue eyes, 

And hands which offer early flowers, 

Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 

Above, the frequent feudal towers 510 

Through green leaves lift their walls of gray ; 

And many a rock which steeply lowers, 

And noble arch in proud decay. 

Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; 

But one thing want these banks of Rhine, — 515 

Thy gentle hand to clasp in mind ! 

in 

I send the lilies given to me ; 

Though long before tliy liand they touch, 

I know that they must withered be, 

But yet reject them not as such ; 520 

For I have cherished them as dear. 

Because they yet may meet thine eye, 

And guide thy soul to mine even here. 

When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, 

And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, 525 

And offered from my heart to thine ! 

IV 

The river nobly foams and flows. 

The charm of this enchanted ground, 

And all its thousand turns disclose 

Some fresher beauty varying round : 530 

The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 

Through life to dwell delighted here ; 

Nor could on earth a spot be found 

To nature and to me so dear, 

Could thy dear eyes in following mine 535 

Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! 



CANTO THIRD 95 

LVI 

By Coblentz, on ji rise of gentle ground, 
There is a snuiU and simple pyramid, 
Crowning the summit of the vonhmt mound ; 
Beneath its base arc lieroes' ashes hid,° 540 

Our enemy's — but let not that forbid 
Honour to Marceau ! o'er whose early tomb 
Tears, big tears, gusheil from the rough soldier's lid. 
Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, 
Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. 545 

LVII 

Brief, brave, and glorious was liis young career, — 
His mourners were two liosts, his friends and foes; 
And fitly may the stranger lingering here 
l*ray for liis gallant spirit's bright repose ; 
For he was Freeilom's chami)ion, one of those, 550 

The few in number, who had o'erstei)t 
The charter to chastise, which she bestows 
On such as wield her weai)ons : he liad kept 
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. 

LVIII 

Here Ehrenbreitstein,° with her shattered wall 555 

Black with the miner's blast, upon lier height 
Yet shows of what she was, when sliell and ball 
Rebounding idly on her strength did liglit : 
A tower of victory ! from whence the ilight 
Of baffled foes was watched along the plain : 560 

]^ut Peace destroyed what War could never blight. 
And laid those j)rou(l roofs bare to Summer's rain — 
On which the iron shower for years liad poured in vain. 



96 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LIX 

Adieu to thee, fair Rhine ! How long delighted 
The stranger fain would linger on his way ! 565 

Thine is a scene alike where souls united 
Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray ; 
And could the ceaseless vulture cease to prey 
On self-condemning bosoms, it were here, 
Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, 570 

Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere, 
Is to the mellow earth as Autumn to the year. 

LX 

Adieu to thee, again ! a vain adieu ! 
There can be no farewell to scene like thine ; ° 
The mind is coloured by thy every hue ; 575 

And if reluctantly the eyes resign 
Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine ! 
'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise ; 
More mighty spots may rise — more glaring shine. 
But none unite in one attaching maze 580 

The brilliant, fair, and soft, — the glories of old days. 

LXI 

The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom 
Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen. 
The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom. 
The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, 585 

The wild rocks shaped, as they had turrets been, 
In mockery of man's art ; and these withal 
A race of faces happy as the scene, 
Whose fertile bounties here extend to all. 
Still springing o'er thy banks, though empires near them fall. 590 



CANTO THIRD 97 

LXII 

But these recede. Above me are the Alps, 
The palaces of Nature whose vast walls 
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, 
And throned Eternity in icy halls° 

OF cold sublimity, wlicrc forms and falls 595 

The avalanche° — the thunderbolt of snow ! 
All that expands the s})irit, yet Jippals, 
Gather around tliese summits, as to show 
How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below. 

LXIII 

But ere these matchless heie^hts I dare to scan, 600 

There is a spot should not be j)assed in vain, — 
Morat ! ° the proud, the patriot field ! where man 
May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, 
Nor blush for those who conquered on that plain ; 
Here Burgundy bequeathed his tombless host, 605 

A bony heap, through ages to remain, 
Themselves their monument ; — the Stygian coast 
Unsepulchred they roamed, and shrieked each wandering ghost. 

LXIV 

While Waterloo with Cannre's carnagc° vies, 
Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand ; 610 

They were true Glory's stainless victories. 
Won by the unambitious heart and hand 
Of a proud, bi'otherly, and civic band. 
All unbought champions in no princely cause 
Of vice-entailed Corruption ; they no land 615 

Doomed to bewail the blasphemy of laws 
Making kings' rights divine, by some Draconic° clause. 



98 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXV 

By a lone wall a lonelier column° rears 
A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days ; 
'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years, 620 

And looks as with the wild bewildered gaze 
Of one to stone converted by amaze, 
Yet still with consciousness ; and there it stands 
Making a marvel that it not decays, 

When the coeval pride of human hands, 625 

Levelled Aventicum, hath strewed her subject lands. 

LXVI 

And there — 0, sweet and sacred be the name ! — 
Julia° — the daughter, the devoted — gave 
Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim 
Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave. 630 

Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crave 
The life she lived in ; but the judge was just. 
And then she died on him she could not save. 
Their tomb was simple, and without a bust, 
And held within their urn, one mind, one heart, one dust. 635 

LXVII 

But these are deeds which should not pass away. 
And names that must not wither, though the earth 
Forgets her empires with a just decay, 
The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and birth ; 
The high, the mountain-majesty of worth 640 

Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe, 
And from its immortality look forth 
In the sun's foce, like yonder Alpine snow, 
Imperishably pure beyond all things below. 



CANTO THIRD 99 

LXVIII 

Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face, 645 

The mirror where the stars and mountains view 
The stiUness of their aspect in each trace 
Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue : 
There is too much of man here, to look through 
With a fit mind the might Avhich I behold; 650 

But soon in me shall loneliness renew 
Thoughts hid, but not less cherished than of old, 
Ere mingling with the herd had penned me in their fold. 

LXIX 

To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind ; 
All are not fit with them to stir and toil. 655 

Nor is it discontent to keep the mind 
Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil 
In the hot throng, where we become the spoil 
Of our infection, till too late and long 

We may deplore and struggle with the coil, 660 

In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong 
Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong. 

LXX 

There, in a moment, we may plunge our years 
In fatal penitence, and in the blight 

Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears, 665 

And colour things to come with hues of Night ; 
The' race of life becomes a hopeless flight 
To those that walk in darkness : on the sea. 
The boldest steer but where their ports invite; 
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity 670 

Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be. 



100 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXI 

Is it not better, then, to be alone, ° 
And love Earth only for its earthly sake? 
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, 
Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake 675 

Which feeds it as a mother who doth make 
A fair but froward infant her own care, 
Kissing its cries away as these awake ; — 
Is it not better thus our lives to wear. 
Than join the crushing crowd, doomed to inflict or bear ? 6S0 

LXXII 

I live not in myself, but I become 
Portion of that around me ; and to me 
High mountains are a feeling, ° but the hum 
Of human cities torture ; I can see 

Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be 6S5 

A link reluctant in a fleshly chain. 
Classed among creatures, when the soul can flee, 
And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain 
Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. 

LXXIII 

And thus I am absorbed, and this is life ; 690 

I look upon the peopled desert past. 
As on a place of agony and strife. 
Where, for some sin, to sorrow I was cast. 
To act and suffer, but remount at last 

With a fresh pinion ; which I feel to spring, 695 

Though young, yet waxing vigorous as the blast 
Which it woukl cope with, on delighted wing, 
Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling. 



CANTO THIRD 101 

LXXIV 

And when, at length, the mind shall be all free° 
From what it hates in this deij^raded form, 700 

Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be 
Existent happier in the fly and worm, — 
When elements to elements conform. 
And (hist is as it should be, shall I not 
Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm ? 705 

The bodiless thought 1 the Si)irit of each spot ? 
Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot ? 

LXXV 

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part 
Of me and of my soul, as I of them 1 ° 

Is not the love of these deep in my heart 710 

With a pure passion 1 should I not contemn 
All objects, if compared with these ? and stem 
A tide of suffering, rather than forego 
Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 
Of those whose eyes are only turned below, 715 

Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow 1 

LXXVI 

But this is not my theme ; and I return 
To that which is immediate, and require 
Those who find contemplation in the urn. 
To look on One° whose dust was once all fire, 720 

A native of the land where I respire 
The clear air for a while — a passing guest, 
Where he became a being, — whose desire 
Was to be glorious ; 'twas a foolish quest. 
The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed iill rest. 725 



102 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXVII 

Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, ° 
The apostle of affliction, he who threw 
Enchantment over passion, and from woe 
Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew 
The breath which made him wretched ; yet he knew 730 

How to make madness beautiful, and cast 
O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue 
Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past 
The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. 

LXXVIII 

His love was passion's essence : — as a tree' 735 

On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame 
Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be 
Thus, and enamoured, were in him the same. 
But his was not the love of living dame 
Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, 740 

But of ideal beauty, which became 
In him existence, and o'erflowing teems 
Along his burning page, distempered though it seems. 

LXXIX 

This breathed itself to life in Julie, ° this 
Invested her with all that's wild and sweet ; 745 

This hallowed, too, the memorable kiss° 
Which every morn his fevered lip would greet. 
From hers, who but with friendship his would meet ; 
But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast 
Flashed tlie thrilled spirit's love-devouring heat ; 750 

In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest 
Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. 



CANTO THIRD 103 

LXXX 

His life was one long war with self-sought foes, 
Or friends by hirn self-banished ; for his mind 
Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary,° and chose, 755 

For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind, 
'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. 
But he was phrensied, — wherefore, who may know? 
Since cause might be which skill could never find ; 
But he was phrensied by disease or woe, 760 

To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. 

LXXXI 

For then he was inspired, and from him came, 
As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore. 
Those oracles° which set the world in flame. 
Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more, 765 

Did he not this for France ? which lay before 
Bowed to the inborn tyranny of years ? 
Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, 
Till by the voice of him and his compeers, 769 

Roused up to too much wrath, which follows o'ergrown fears ? 

LXXXII 

They made themselves a fearful monument ! 
The wreck of old opinions — things which grew. 
Breathed from the birth of time : the veil they rent, 
And what behind it lay all earth shall view. 
But good with ill they also overthrew, 775 

Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild 
Upon the same foundation, and renew 
Dungeons and thrones, which the same liour refilled. 
As heretofore, because ambition was self-willed. 



104 CniLDK II A HOLD S riLGRIMAGE 

LXXXIII 

But tliis will not enduiv, iior be onduml ! 780 

Mankind have tVlt tlieir strength, and made it felt. 
Tiiey might have used it better, but, allured 
By their new vigour, sternly liuve they dealt 
On one another ; Pity eeased to melt 

With her om-e natural eharities. — But they, 785 

Who in oppression's darkness euveil had dwelt, 
They were not eagles, nourisheil with the day ; 
What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey ? 

LXXXIV 

WHiat deep wounds ever eloscd without a scar? 
The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear 790 

That which disfigures it ; and they who war 
AVith their own hopes, and have been vanquished, bear 
Silenee, but not submission : in his lair 
Fixed Passion holds his breath, initil the hour 
Whieh shall atone for years ; none need despair : 795 

It came, it eometh, and will eome, — the power 
To punish or forgive — in one we shall be slower. 

LXXXV 

Clear, ])laeiil Leman ! ° thy contrasted lake, 
With tlie wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
Whieh warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 800 

Earth's troubled waters for a jnirer spring. 
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murnmring 
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, S05 

That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. 



CANTO THIRD 105 



LXXXVI 



It is tlio husli of niglit,° and ;ill between 
Tliy niarij^in and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellowed and inini2:lin<j^, yet distinctly seen, 
Save darkened Jura., whose capt heiij^hts ajtpear 8io 

Precipitously steep ; and drawin*]: near, 
Tlien> breatlies a livin.u^ tra«jjrance from the shore, 
Of llowers y(>t fresh with childliood ; on the ear 
l)ro})s the li^ht drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the grasslio})per one good-night carol more : Si 5 

LX XXVII 

He is an evening reveller, who makes 
His life an infancy, and sings his fill; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill, 820 

]^ut that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
All silently their tears of love instil, 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 

LXXXVIII 

Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! 825 

If in your bright leaves we would read the tate 
Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven. 
That in our aspirations to be great. 
Our destinies o'crleap their mortal state. 
And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are 830 

A beauty and a mystery, and create 
In us such love and reverence from afar, 
That fortune, fame, power, life have named themselves a star. 



106 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXXIX 

All heaven and earth arc stiir — though not in sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 835 

And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — 
All heaven and earth are still : From tlie high host 
Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast. 
All is concentered in a life intense, 

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 840 

But hath a part of being, and a sense 
Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 

xc 

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
In solitude, where Ave are /east alone ; 

A truth, which through our being then doth melt, 845 

And purities from self : it is a tone, 
The soul and source of music, which makes known 
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm 
Like to the tabled Cytherea's zone, 

Binding all things with beauty ; — 'twould disarm S50 

Tlic spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. 

xci 

Not vainly did the early Persian" make 
His altar the high places, and the peak 
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, and thus take 
A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek 855 

The Spirit, in Avhose honour shrhies are weak, 
U]n-cared of human hands. Come, and compare 
Cohunns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, 
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, 
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer ! 860 



CANTO THIRD 107 

XOII 

Tlie sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, 
And storm, and darkness, yc arc womh-ous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along. 

From peak to peak,° the rattling crags among 865 

Leaps tlie live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain nov^^ hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, wlio call to her aloud ! 

XCIII 

And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! ° 870 

Tiiou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — 
A ])ortion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a pliosplioric sea. 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 875 

And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee 
Of tlie loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 

xciv 

Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between 
Heights which appear as lovers who have i)arted 880 

In hate, whose mining depths so interveui^, 
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted ! 
Though in their souls, which thus eacli other thwarted. 
Love was the very root of the fond rage 
Which blighted tlieir life's bloom, and then departed : — 885 
Itself ex})ired, but leaving tJKMu an age 
Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage : — 



108 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

xcv 

Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, 
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : 
For here, not one, but many, make their play, S90 

And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, 
Flashing and cast around : of all the band, 
The briglitest through these parted hills liath forked 
His lightnings, — as if he did understand. 
That in such gaps as desolation worked, 895 

There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked. 

xcvi 

Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings, ° ye, 
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
Things that have made me watchful ; the far roll 900 

Of your departing voices, is tlie knoll 
Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
But where of you, tempests ! is the goal ? 
Are ye like those within the human breast 1 
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest 1 905 

XCVII 

Could I embody and unbosom now 
That which is most within me, — could I wreak 
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak. 
All that I would have sought, and all I seek, 910 

Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word. 
And that one word were lightning, I would speak ; 
But as it is, I live and die unheard. 
With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.° 



CANTO THIRD 109 

XCVIII 

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, 915 

With breath all incense, ° and with cheek all bloom, 
Laughing the clouds away with i)layful scorn. 
And living as if earth contained no tomb, — 
And glowing into day : we may resume 
The march of our existence : and thus I, 920 

Still on thy shores, fair Leman, may find room 
And food for meditation, nor pass by 
Much, that may give us pause, if pondered fittingly. 

xcix 

Clarens, sweet Clarens,° birthplace of deep love ! 
Tliine air is the young breath of passionate thought ; 925 

Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above 
The very Glaciers have his colours caught, 
And sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought 
By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks. 
The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought 930 

In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, 
Wiiich stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then mocks. 



Clarens, by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, — 
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne 
To which the steps are mountains ; where the god 935 

Is a pervading life and light, — so shown 
Not on those summits solely, nor alone 
In the still cave and forest ; o'er the flower 
His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown. 
His soft and summer breath, whose tender power 940 

Passes the strenorth of storms in their most desolate hour. 



110 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CI 

All things are here of him; from the black pines, 
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines 
Which slope his green path downward to the shore, 945 

Where the bowed waters meet him, and adore, 
Kissing his feet with murmurs ; and the wood, 
The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar. 
But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, 
Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude. 950 

CII 

A populous solitude of bees and birds, 
And fairy-formed and many-coloured things. 
Who worship him with notes more sweet than words. 
And innocently open their glad wings. 

Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs, 955 

And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend 
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend. 
Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. 

cm 

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, 960 

And make his heart a spirit ; ° he who knows 
That tender mystery, will love the more ; 
For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes. 
And the world's waste, have driven him far from those. 
For 'tis his nature to advance or die ; 965 

He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie 
With the immortal lights, in its eternity ! 



CANTO THIRD 111 

CIV 

'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, 
Peopling it with affections ; but he found 970 

It was the scene which passion must allot 
To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground 
Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound 
And hallowed it with loveliness ; 'tis lone, 
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, 975 

And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone 
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have reared a throne. 

cv 

Lausanne, and Ferney ! ° ye have been the abodes 
Of names which unto you bequeathed a name 5 
Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, 980 

A path to perpetuity of fame : 
They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim 
Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts° to pile 
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame 
Of Heaven again assailed, if Heaven the while 985 

On man and man's research could deign do more than smile. 

cvi 

The one° was fire and fickleness, a child 
Most mutable in wishes, but in mind 
A wit as various ; — gay, grave, sage, or wild, — 
Historian, bard, philosopher, combined ; 990 

He multiplied himself among mankind, 
The Proteus of their talents : But his own 
Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as the wind. 
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, — 
Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. 995 



112 CHILDE HAROLD^ S PILGRIMAGE 

CVII 

The other, ° deep and slow, exhausting thought, 
Antl hiving wisdom with each studious year, 
In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought. 
And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, 
Sapping a solenni creed with solemn sneer ; ° 
The lord of irony, — that master-spell, 
Whicli stung his foes to wrath, wliich grew from fear, 
And doomed him to the zealot's ready hell, 
Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. 

CVIII 

Yet, peace be with their ashes, — for by them. 
If merited, the penalty is paid ; 
It is not ours to judge, — for less condemn ; 
The hour must come when such things shall be made 
Known unto all, or hope and dread allayed 
By slumber, on one pillow, in the dust. 
Which, thus much we are sure, nuist lie decayed ; 
And when it shall revive, as is our trust, 
'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. 

cix 

But let me quit man's works, again to read 
His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend 
This page, which from my reveries I feed, 
Until it seems prolonging without end. 
The clouds above me to the white Alps tend. 
And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er 
May be permitted, as my steps I bend 
To their most great and growing region, where 
The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air. 



CANTO THIRD 113 

CX 

Italiii,° too, Itiilia ! lookiucj on tlice, 
Full rtaslics on tlic soul tlio lii^ht of iv.2:oa, 
Since tlie fi{>roe Carthaginian almost won thee, 1025 

To the last halo of the chit^fs and sages 
Who glorify thy eonseeratcMl pages; 
Thou vvert the tlirone and grave of tMni)ir(^s ; still, 
Tiie fount at which tiic panting mind assuages 
Her thirst, of knowledge, qualHng tlu^re h(>r fill, 1010 

Flows from the eternal source of Komc's ini})erial hill. 

CXI 

Thus far have I proceeded in a theme 
Renewed with no kind auspices : to feel 
We are not what we have been, and to deem 
We are not what we should be, and to stcu'l 1035 

The heart against itself; and to conc^eal. 
With a i)roud caution, love, or hate, or aught, — 
Passion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal, — 
Which is the tyrant s}nrit of our thought. 
Is a stern task of soul, — No matter, — it is taught. 1040 

CXII 

And for these words, thus woven into song. 
It may be that they are a harndess wile, — 
The colouring of the scenes which fleet along. 
Which I would seize, in passing, to b(^guile 
My breast, or that of others, for a while. 1045 

Fame is the thirst of youth, but I am not 
So young as to regaiil men's frown or smile, 
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot ; 
I stood Jind stand alone, — remembered or forgot. 



114 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGIUMAGE 

CXIII 

I have not loved the world, nor the world me ; ° 1050 

I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed 
To its idolatries a patient knee, 
Nor coined my cheek to smiles, nor cried aloud 
In worship of an echo ; in the crowd 

They could not deem me one of such ; I stood 1055 

Among them, but not of them ; in a shroud 
Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, 
Had I not filed my mind, which thus itself subdued. 

CXIV 

I have not loved the world, nor the world me, — 
But let us part fair foes ; I do believe, 1060 

Though I have found them not, that there may be 
Words which are things, hopes which will not deceive, 
And virtues which are merciful, nor weave 
Snares for the failing, I would also deem 
O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve ; 1065 

That two, or one, are almost what they seem, 
That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. 

cxv 

My daughter ! with thy name this song begun ; 
My daughter ! with thy name thus much shall end ; 
I see thee not, I hear thee not, but none 1070 

Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend 
To whom the shadows of far years extend : 
Albeit my brow thou never should'st behold, ° 
My voice shall with thy future visions blend. 
And reach into thy heart, when mine is cold, 1075 

A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould. 



CANTO THIRD 115 

CXVI 

To aid thy mind's development, to watch 
Thy dawn of little joys, to sit and see 
Almost thy very growth, to view thee catch 
Knowledge of objects, — wonders yet to thee ! 1080 

To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, 
And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss, — 
This, it should seem, was not reserved for me ; 
Yet this was in my nature : as it is 
I know not what is there, yet something like to this. 1085 

CXVII 

Yet, though dull hate as duty should be taught, 
I know that thou wilt love me ; though my name 
Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught 
With desolation, and a broken claim : 

Though the grave closed between us,° — 'twere the same, 1090 
I know that thou wilt love me ; though to drain 
My blood from out thy being were an aim. 
And an attainment, — all would be in vain, — 
Still thou would'st love me, still that more than life retain. 

CXVIII 

The child of love, though born in bitterness, 1095 

And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire 
These are the elements, and thine no less. 
As yet such are around thee, but thy fire 
Shall be more tempered, and thy hope far higher. 
Sweet be thy cradled slumbers ! O'er the sea 1100 

And from the mountains where I now respire, 
Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee, 
As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to me ! 



CANTO FOURTH 



I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; ° 
A palace and a prison on each hand ; 
I saw from out the wave her structures rise 
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : 
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand 
Around me, and a dying glory smiles 
O'er the far times, when many a subject land 
Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles, ° 
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles/ 

II 

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, 
Rising with her tiara of proud towers 
At airy distance, with majestic motion, 
A ruler of the waters and their powers : 
And such she was ; — her daughters had their dowers 
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
In purple was she robed, and of her feast 
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased. 

116 



CANTO FOURTH 117 



III 



In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,° 

And silent rows the songless gondolier ; 20 

Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, 
And music meets not always now the ear : 
Those days are gone — but beauty still is here. 
States fall, arts fade — but nature doth not die, 
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,° 25 

The pleasant place of all festivity, 
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy ! 

IV 

But unto us she hath a spell beyond 
Her name in story, and her long array 

Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond — 30 

Above the dogeless° city's vanished sway ; 
Ours is a trophy which will not decay 
With the Rialto;° Shylock and tlie Moor,° 
And Pierre, ° cannot be swept or worn away — 
The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er — 35 

For us repeopled were the solitary shore. 



The beings of the mind are not of clay ; ° 
Essentially immortal, they create 
And multiply in us a blighter ray 

And more beloved existence : that which Fate — 40 

Prohibits to dull life, in this our state 
Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied, 
First exiles, then replaces what we hate ; 
Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, 
And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 45 



118 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

VI 

Such is the refuge of our youth and age,° 
The first from hope, the last from vacancy ; 
And this worn feeling peoples many a page, 
And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye : 
Yet there are things whose strong reality 50 

Outshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues 
More beautiful than our fantastic sky. 
And the strange constellations which the Muse 
O'er her wild universe is skilful to diftuse : 



VII 

I saw or dreamed of such, — but let them go, — 55 

They came like truth, and disappeared like dreams ; 
And whatsoe'er they were — are now but so : 
I could replace them if I would ; still teems 
My mind with many a form which aptly seems 
Such as I sought for, and at moments found ; — 60 

Let these too go — for waking reason deems 
Such over-weening phantasies unsound, 
And other voices speak, and other sights surround. 

VIII 

I've taught me other tongues, ° and in strange eyes 
Have made me not a stranger ; to the mind — 65 

Which is itself, no changes bring surprise ; 
Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find 
A country with — ay, or without mankind : 
Yet was I born where men are proud to be, — 
Not without cause ; and should I leave behind 70 

The inviolate island of the sage and free. 
And seek me out a home by a remoter sea ? 



CANTO FOURTH 119 

IX 

Perhaps I loved it well ; and should I lay 
My ashes in a soil which is not mine, 

My spirit shall resume it — if we may 75 

Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine 
My hopes of being remembered in my line 
With my land's language : if too fond and far 
These aspirations in their scope incline, — 
If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, 80 

Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar 



My name from out the temple where the dead 
Are honoured by the nations — let it be — 
And light the laurels on a loftier head ! 
And be the Spartan's epitaph° on me — 85 

' Sparta hath many a worthier son than he.' 
Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; 
The thorns° which I have reaped are of the tree 
I planted ; they have torn me, and I bleed : 89 

I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. 

XI 

The spouseless Adriatic" mourns her lord ; 
And, annual marriage now no more renewed, 
The Bucentaur lies rotting uui-estored. 
Neglected garment of her widowhood ! 

St. Mark yet sees° his lion where he stood 95 

Stand, but in mockery of his withered power. 
Over the proud Place where an Emperor° sued, 
And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour 
When Venice was a queen with an unequalled dower. 



120 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XII 

The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns° — loo 

An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; 
Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains 
Clank over sceptred cities ; nations melt 
From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt 
The sunshine for a while, and downward go 105 

Like lauwine loosened from the mountain's belt ; 
Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo!° 
Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe ! 

XIII 

Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass,° 
Their gilded collars glittering in the sun; no 

But is not Doria's menace° come to pass 1 
Are they not bridled ? — Venice, lost and won, 
Her thirteen hundred years of freedom® done, 
Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose ! 
Better be whelmed beneath the waves, and shun 115 

Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes. 
From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. 

XIV 

In youth she was all glory, — a new Tyre ; 
Her very by-word sprung from victory. 
The 'Planter of the Lion,'° which through fire 120 

And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea ; 
Though making many slaves, herself still free. 
And Europe's bulwark® 'gainst the Ottomite;° 
Witness Troy's rival, Candia ! ° Vouch it, ye 
Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight ! ° 125 

For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. 



CANTO FOURTH 121 



XV 



Stjituos of glass — all shivered — tlie long file 
Of her (lead Doges are declined to dust ; 
But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile° 
Bespeaks the pageant of their sj)lendi(l trust ;° 130 

Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust. 
Have yielded to the stranger : cnii)ty halls. 
Thin streets, and foreign aspects," such as nuist 
Too oft remind her who and what enthrals. 
Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. 135 

XVI 

When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, 
And fettered thousands bore the yoke of war, 
Redemption rose up in tlu^ Attic Muse,° 
Her voice theii* only ransom from afar : 

See ! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car 140 

Of the o'erniastered victor stoj)s, the n^ns 
Fall from his hands, his idle scimitar 
Starts from its belt — he rends his captive's chains. 
And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains. 

XVII 

Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, — 145 

Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, 
Thy choral memory of the Bard divine,° 
Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot 
Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot 
Is shameful to the nations, most of all, 150 

Albion \° to thee : the Ocean Queen should not 
Abandon Ocean's children ; in tiie fall 
Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. 



122 ClULDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XVIII 

I loved her from my boyhood ; ° she to me 
Was as a fairy city of the lieart, 155 

Rising like water-coliunns from the sea, 
Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; 
And Otway, Radclift'e, Schiller, Sluikspeare's art,° 
Had stamped her image in me, and even so, 
Although I found her thus, we did not part ; 160 

Perchance even dearer in her day of woe. 
Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. 

XIX 

I can repeople with the past — and of 
The })re8ent there is still for eye and thought, 
And meditation chastened down, enough ; 165 

And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought ; 
And of the ha])piest moments which were wrought, 
Witliin the web of my existence, some 
From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught : 
There are some feelings time cannot benumb, 170 

Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. 

XX 

But from their nature will the tannen grow° 
Loftiest on loftiest and least sheltered rocks. 
Rooted in barrenness, where nought below 
Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks 175 

Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks 
The howling tempest, till its lieight and frame 
Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks 
Of bleak, gray granite into life it came. 
And grew a giant tree; — the mind may grow the same. iSo 



CANTO FOIJHTII V2l\ 

XXI 

Existence may be boriu^ and tlie deep root 
Of life and sulferance make its iirm abode 
In bare and desolated bosoms ; nmte 
The camel labours with tlie heaviest load, 
And tlie wolf dies in silence, - not bestowed 185 

In vain should such exaini)le be; if they, 
Thin^ijjs of ignoble or of savage mood 
Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay 
May temper it to bear, — it is but for a day. 

XXII 

All snrtering dotli destroy, or is destroyed, 190 

l<iVen by the sufferer ; and, in each event, 

r^nds : - - Some, with hoj)e replenished and n^buoyed, 

Iveturn to whence they came — with like intent. 

And weave their web again ; some, bowed and bent, 

Wax gray and ghastly, withering v.w, tluiir time, 195 

, And perish with the reed on which they leant. 
Solium seek devotion, toil, war, good, or crime, 

According as their souls were formed to sink or climb. 

XXIII 

But ever and anon of griefs sub(bied 

There conuvs a token lik<i a s(u»ri)i(»n's sting, 200 

Scarce seen, but witli fresh bitterness induicd ; 
And slight withal may be the things which ])ring 
i>ack on the heart the weight which it would iiing 
Aside for ever : it may be a sound — 

A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — 205 

A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, 
Striking tlie electric chain wheiewith we are darkly bound ; 



124 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXIV 

And how and why we know not, nor can trace 
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, 
But feel the shock renewed, nor can efface 210 

The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, 
Which out of things familiar, undesigned. 
When least we deem of such, calls up to view 
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, — 
The cold, the changed, perchance the dead — anew, 215 

The mourned, the loved, the lost — too many ! — yet how 
few ! 

XXV 

But my soul wanders ; I demand it back . 
To meditate amongst decay, and stand 
A ruin amidst ruins ; ° there to track 

Fallen states and buried greatness, o'er a land 220 

Which was the mightiest in its old command, 
And is the loveliest, and must ever be 
The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand ; 
Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, 
The beautiful, the brave, the lords of earth and sea. 225 

XXVI 

The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome ! 
And even since, and now, fair Italy ! 
Thou art the garden of the world, the home 
Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; 
Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? 230 

Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste 
More rich than other climes' fertility ; 
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced • 

With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced. 



CANTO FOURTH 125 



XXVII 



The moon is up, and yet it is not night ; ° 235 

Sunset divides the sky with her ; a sea 
Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
Of blue Friuli's mountains ; ° Heaven is free 
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be, — 
Melted to one vast Iris of the West, — 240 

Where the Day joins the past Eternity ; 
While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest 
Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest ! 

XXVIII 

A single star is at her side,° and reigns 

With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still 245 

Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains 
Eolled o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill, 
As Day and Night contending were, until 
Nature reclaimed her order : gently flows 
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil 250 

The odorous purple of a new-born rose, 
Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within it glows, 

XXIX 

Filled with the face of heaven, which, from afar, 
Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, 
From the rich sunset to the rising star, 255 

Their magical variety diffuse : 
And now they change ; a paler shadow strews 
Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day 
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 
With a new colour as it gasps away, 260 

The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray. 



126 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXX 

There is a tomb in Arqua ; ° — reared in air, 
Pillared in tlieir sarcophagus, repose 
The bones of Laura's lover : ° here repair 
Many familiar with his well-sung woes, 265 

The pilgrims of his genius. He arose° 
To raise a language, and his land reclaim" 
From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes : 
Watering the tree° which bears his lady's name 
With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. 270 

XXXI 

They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died ; 
The mountain-village where his latter days 
Went down the vale of years ; and 'tis their pride — 
An honest pride — and let it be their praise, 
To offer to the passing stranger's gaze 275 

His mansion and his sepulchre ; ° both plain 
And venerably simple, such as raise 
A feeling more accordant with his strain° 
Than if a pyramid formed his monumental fane. 

XXXII 

And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt 280 

Is one of that complexion which seems made 
For those who their mortality have felt. 
And sought a refuge from their hopes decayed 
In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade. 
Which shows a distant prospect far away 285 

Of busy cities, now in vain displayed. 
For they can lure no further ; and the ray 
Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday, 



CANTO FOURTH 127 

XXXIII 

Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, 
And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, 290 

Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours 
With a calm languor, which, though to the eye 
Idlesse it seem, hath its mortality. 
If from society we learn to live, 

'Tis solitude should teach us how to die ; ° 295 

It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give 
No hollow aid j alone — man with his God must strive : 

XXXIV 

Or, it may be, with demons, who impair 
The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey 
In melancholy bosoms, such as were 300 

Of moody texture from their earliest day. 
And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay 
Deeming themselves predestined to a doom 
Whi(;h is not of the pangs that pass away ; 
Making tlie sun like blood, the earth a tomb, 
The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom. 



305 



XXXV 

Ferrara ! ° in thy wide and grass-grown streets, 
Whose symmetry was not for solitude. 
There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats 
Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood 310 

Of Este,° which for many an age made good 
Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore 
Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood 
Of petty power impelled, of those who wore° 
The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn before. 315 



128 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XXXVI 

And Tasso is their glory and their shame. ° 
Hark to his strain, and then survey his cell ! 
And see how dearly earned Torquato's fame, 
And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell : 
The miserable despot could not quell 320 

The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend 
With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell 
Where he had plunged it. Glory without end 
Scattered the clouds away ; and on that name attend 

XXXVII 

The tears and praises of all time ; while thine 325 

Would rot in its oblivion — in the sink 
Of wortliless dust, which from thy boasted line 
Is shaken into nothing — but the link 
Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think 
Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn ; 330 

Alfonso, how thy ducal pageants shrink 
From thee ! if in another station born, 
Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad'st to mourn : 

XXXVIII 

Thou^ formed to eat, and be despised, and die, 
Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou 335 

Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty ! 
He, with a glory round his furrowed brow. 
Which emanated then, and dazzles now. 
In face of all his foes, tlie Cruscan squire,° 
And Boileau,° whose rash envy could allow 340 

No strain which shamed his country's creaking lyre. 
That whetstone of the teeth — monotony in wire ! 



CA^'TO FOURTH 129 



XXXIX 



Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! 'twas his 
In life and death to be the mark where Wrong 
Aimed with her poisoned arrows, — but to miss. 345 

Oh, victor unsurpassed in modern song ! 
Each j^ear brings forth its milUons ; but how long 
The tide of generations shall roll on, 
And not the whole couibined and countless throng 
Compose a mind like thine ! though all in one 350 

Condensed their scattered rays, they would not form a sun. 

XL 

Great as thou art, yet paralleled by those, 
Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine, 
The Bards of Hell and Chivalry : ° first rose 
The Tuscan father's comedy divine ; 355 

Then, not unequal to the Florentine, 
The southern Scott, ° the minstrel who called forth 
A new creation with his magic line. 
And, like the Ariosto of the North, ° 
Sang lady-love and war, romance and knightly worth. 360 

XLI 

The lightning^ rent from Ariosto's bust 
The iron crown of laurel's mimic'd leaves ; 
Nor was the ominous element unjust. 
For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves 
Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves, 365 

And the fjilse semblance but disgraced his brow; 
Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves, 
Know, that the lightning sanctifies below 
Whate'er it strikes ; — yon head is doubly sacred now. 



loO ClIILDE HAROLD'S PlLiUilMAiJE 

XLII 

Italia ! oh Italia ! ° thou who hast 370 

The fatal gift of beauty, whieh became 
A funeral dower of present woes and past, 
On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame, 
And annals graved in characters of flame. 
Oh, God ! that tiiou wort in thy nakedness 375 

Less lovely or more powerful, and could claim 
Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press 
To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress ; 

XLIII 

Then might'st thou more appal ; or, less desired, 
Be homely and be peaceful, undei)lored 380 

For thy destructive charms ; then, still untired, 
Would not be seen the armed torrents poured 
Down the deep Alps ; nor would the hostile horde ! 
Of many-nationed spoilers from the Po 

Quaff blood and water ; nor the stranger's sword 3S5 

Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, 
Victor or vanquished, thou the slave of friend or foe. 

XLIV 

Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him, 
The Roman friend^ of Rome's least-mortal mind, 
The friend of Tully : as my bark did skim 390 

The bright blue waters with a fanning wind, 
Came Megara before me, and behind 
^Egina lay, Piranis on the right, 
And Corinth on the left ; I lay reclined 

Along the prow, and saw all these unite 395 

lu ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight ; 



CANTO FOURTH 131 

XLV 

For Time h;itli not robiiilt tluMii, but iiproared 
J)arbari(' dwellings on their shattered site, 
Whieh only make more mourned and more endeared 
The few hist rays of their far-seattered light, 400 

And the erushed relies of their vanished might. 
The Roman saw tluvse tombs in his own age, 
These sei)ulehres of eities, whieh exeite 
Satl wonder, and his yet surviving ]);ige 
The moral lesson bears, drawn from sueli i)ilgrimagc. 405 

XLVI 

That page° is now before me, and on nnne 
7//.S- country's ruin added to the mass 
Of perislunl states he mourned in their decline. 
And I in desolation : all that iras 

Of then destruction is : and now, alas ! 410 

Rome — Rome imperial, bows her to the storm, 
In the same dust and blackness, and we pass 
The skeleton of her Titanic form, 
Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still arc warm. 

XLVII 

Yet, Italy, through every other land ^ i ;; 

Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side ! 
Mother of Arts ! as once of arms ; thy hand 
Was then our guardian, ° and is still our guide ! 
Parent of our Religion ! whom the wide 
Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven ! 420 

Europe, repentant of her i)[irricide, 
Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, 
Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. 



132 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XLVIII 

But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 
Where the Etrurian Athens° claims and keeps 425 

A softer feeling for her foiry halls, 
Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps 
Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps° 
To laughing life, with her redundant horn. 
Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps 430 

Was modern Luxury of Commerce born. 
And buried Learning rose, redeemed to a new morn. 

XLIX 

There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills 
The air around with beauty ; we inhale 
The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils 455 

Part of its immortality ; the veil 
Of heaven is half undrawn ; within the pale 
We stand, and in that form and face behold 
What Mind can make, when Nature's self would fail ; 
And to the fond idolaters of old 440 

Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould : 



We gaze and turn away, and know not where, 
Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart 
Reels with its fulness ; there — for ever there — 
Chained to the chariot of triumphal Art, 445 

We stand as captives, and would not depart. 
Away ! — there need no words, nor terras precise, 
The paltry jargon° of the marble mart, 
Where Pedantry gulls Folly — we have eyes : 
Blood, pulse, and breast confirm the Dardan Shepherd's piize.°45o 



CANTO FOURTH 133 

LI 

Appearedst thou not to Pnris in this guise ? 
Or the more doeply blest Anchises? ° or, 
In all thy perfect goddess-ship, wlien lies 
Before thee thy own vanipiished Lord of War,° 
And gazing in thy face as toward a star, 455 

Laid on tliy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, 
Feeding on thy sweet cheek ! while thy lips are 
With lava kisses melting while they burn, 
Showered on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an uru ! 

LII 

Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love, 460 

There full divinity inadequate 
That feeling to express, or to improve. 
The gods become as mortals, and man's fate° 
Has moments like their brightest ; but the weight 
Of earth recoils upon us ; let it go ! 465 

We can recall such visions, and create, 
From what has been, or might be, tilings which grow 
Into thy statue's form, and look like gods below. 

LIII 

I leave to learned fingers, and wise hands, 
The artist and his ape,° to teach and tell 470 

How well his conuoisseurship understands 
The graceful bend,° and the voluptuous swell : 
Let these describe the undescribable : 
I would not their vile breath should crisp the stream 
Wherein that image shall for ever dwell : 475 

The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream 
That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. 



134 . CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LIV 

In Santa Croce's holy precincts° lie 
Ashes which make it holier, dust which is 
Even in itself an immortality, 480 

Though there were nothing save the past, and this. 
The particle of those sublimities 
Which have relapsed to chaos : here repose 
Angelo's,° Alfieri's bones, and his, 

The starry Galileo, with his woes ; ° 4S5 

Here MachiavelU's° earth returned to whence it rose. 

LV 

These are four minds, which, like the elements. 
Might furnish forth creation : — Italy ! 
Time, which hath wronged thee with ten thousand rents 
Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, 490 

And hath denied, to every other sky. 
Spirits which soar from ruin : thy decay 
Is still impregnate with divinity. 
Which gilds it with revivifying ray : 
Such as the great of yore, Canova° is to-day. 495 

LVI 

But where repose the all Etruscan three — 
Dante and Petrarch, and scarce less than they, 
The bard of Prose,° creative spirit ! he 
Of the Hundred Tales of love — where did they lay 
Their bones, distinguished from our common clay 500 

In death as life ? Are they resolved to dust. 
And have their country's marbles nought to say ? 
Could not her quarries furnisli forth one bust ? 
Did they not to her breast their filial earth entrust ? 



CANTO FOURTH 135 

LVII 

Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar,° 505 

Like Scipio,° buried by the upbraiding shore : 
Thy factions, in their worse than civil war, 
Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore 
Their children's children would in vain adore 
With the remorse of ages : and the crown 510 

Which Petrarch's laureate brow° supremely wore, 
Upon a far and foreign soil° had grown, 
His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled° — not thine own. 

LVIII 

Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeathed" 
His dust, — and lies it not her great among, 515 

With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed 
O'er him who formed the Tuscan's siren tongue ? 
Tliat music in itself, whose sounds arc song, 
The poetry of speech 1 No ; — even his tomb, 
Uptorn, must bear the hyaena bigot's wrong, 520 

No more amidst the meaner dead find room, 
Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for luhom t 

LIX 

And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust ; 
Yet for this want more noted, as of yore 
Tlie Cicsar's pageant,° shorn of Brutus' bust, 525 

Did but of Rome's best Son remind her more : 
Happier Ravenna ! on thy hoary shore. 
Fortress of falling empire ! honoured sleeps 
Tlie immortal exile : — - Arqua, too, her store 
Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keeps, 530 

While Florence vainly begs her banished dead and weeps. 



136 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LX 

What is her pyramid" of precious stones ? 
Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues 
Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones 
Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dews 535 

Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse 
Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead 
Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse, 
Are gently prest with far more reverent tread 
Than ever placed the slab which paves the princely head. 540 

LXI 

There be more things to greet the heart and eyes 
In Arno's dome° of Art's most princely shrine, 
Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister° vies ; 
There be more marvels yet — but not for mine ; 
For I have been accustomed to entwine 545 

My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, 
Than Art in galleries : thougli a work divine 
Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields 
Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields 

LXII 

Is of another temper, and I roam 550 

By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles° 
Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home ; 
For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles 
Come back before me, as his skill beguiles 
The host between the mountains and the shore, 555 

Where Courage falls in her despairing files. 
And torrents, swollen to rivers witli their gore, 
Reck through the sultry plain, with legends scattered o'er. 



CANTO FOURTH 137 

lAIII 

Lik(^ to ;i forest felled by inoiintain winds; 
And such tiie storm of buttle on this diiy, 560 

And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds 
To all save carnai^e, that, beneath th(> fray, 
An eartlKjuake" reeled uidieededly away ! 
None felt stern Nature rocking jit his feet, 
And yawninsf forth a grave for those who lay 565 

I'pon their bucklers for a winding sheet, 
Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet ! 



LXIV 

The earth to them was as a rolling bark 
Which bore them to eternity ; they saw 
'V\\v Ocean roiuid, but luul no time to mark 
The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law 
In them suspended, recked not of the awe 
Which reigns when mounttiins tremble, and the birds 
IMunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw 
b'rom their down-toi)pling nests; and bellowing herds 57 
Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man s dread hath no words. 



570 



LXV 

Far other scene is Thrasimenc now : 
Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 
Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain 5S0 

Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta'en — 
A little rill of scanty stream and bed — 
A namc^ of blood from that day's sanguine rain ; 
And Sanguinctto tells ye where the dead 
Made the earth wet, and turned the unwilling waters red. 585 



138 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXVI 

But thou, Clitnmnus,° in thy sweetest wave 
Of the most living crystal that was e'er 
The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave 
Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear 
Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer° 590 

Grazes ; the purest god of gentle waters ! 
And most serene of aspect, and most clear ; 
Surely that stream was unprofoned by slaughters, 
A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! 

LXVII 

And on thy happy shore a Temple still, 595 

Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, 
Upon a mild de(;livity of hill, 
Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps 
Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps 
The finny darter with the ghttering scales, 600 

Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; 
While, chance, some scattered water-lily sails 
Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales. 

LXVIII 

Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! 
If through the air a zephyr more serene 605 

Win to the brow, 'tis his ; and if ye trace 
Along his margin a more eloquent green, 
If on the heart the freshness of the scene 
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust 
Of weary life a moment lave it clean 610 

With Nature's baptism — 'tis to him ye must 
Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. 



CANTO FOURTH 139 

LXIX 

The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height 
Velino° cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; 
The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 615 

The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; 
The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 
And boil in endless torture : while the sweat 
Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
Their Phlegethon,° curls round the rocks of jet 620 

That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, 

LXX 

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again 
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, 
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain. 
Is an eternal April to the ground, 625 

Making it all one emerald : — how profound 
The gulf ! and how the giant element 
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound. 
Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent 
With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent 630 

LXXI 

To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 
More like the fountain of an infant sea 
Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes 
Of a new world, than only thus to be 

Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, 635 

With many windings, through the vale : — Look back ! 
Lo ! where it comes like an eternity. 
As if to sweep down all things in its track. 
Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract, 



140 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXII 

Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, 640 

From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, 
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge. 
Like hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn 
Its steady dies, while all around is torn 
By the distracted waters, bears serene 645 

Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn : 
Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene. 
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. 

LXXIII 

Once more upon the woody Apennine, 

The infant Alps, which — had I not before 650 

Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine 
Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar 
The thundering lauvvine° — might be worshipped more; 
But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau° rear 
Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar 655 

Glaciers of bleak Mont Blanc both far and near, 
And in Chimari° heard the thunder-hills of fear, 

LXXIV 

Th' Acroceraunian° mountains of old name ; 
And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly 

Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame, 660 

For still they soared unutterably high : 
I've looked on Ida with a Trojan's eye ; 
Athos, Olympus, ^tna, Atlas, made 
These hills seem things of lesser dignity. 
All, save the lone Soracte's height, displayed 665 

Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid° 



CANTO FOURTH 141 



LXXV 



For our remembrance, and from out the plain 
Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, 
And on the curl hangs pausing : not in vain 
May he, who will, his recollections rake, 670 

And quote in classic raptures, and awake 
The hills with Latian echoes ; I abhorred° 
Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, 
The drilled dull lesson, forced down word by word 
In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 675 

LXXVI 

Aught that recalls the daily drug which turned 
My sickening memory ; and, thougli Time hath taught 
My mind to meditate what then it learned. 
Yet such the fixed inveteracy wrought 

By the impatience of my early thought, 680 

That, with the freshness wearing out before 
My mind could relish what it might have sought 
If free to choose, I cannot now restore 
Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor. 

LXXVII 

Then farewell, Horace, whom I hated so, 685 

Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse 
To understand, not feel thy loric flow. 
To comprehend, but never love thy verse ; 
Although no deeper moralist rehearse 

Our little life, nor bard prescribe his art,° 690 

Nor livelier Satirist the conscience pierce. 
Awakening without woun(hng the touched heart, 
Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. 



142 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXVIII 

Oh Rome, my country, City of the soul ! 
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 695 

Lone mother of dead empires ! and control 
In their shut breasts their petty misery, 
What are our woes and sufferance 1 Come and see 
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye ! 700 

Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 

LXXIX 

The Niobe of nations ! there she stands 
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; 
An empty urn within her withered hands, 705 

Whose holy dust was scattered long ago ; 
The Scipios' tomb° contains no ashes now ; 
The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness 1 
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 



710 



LXXX 

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, 
Have dwelt upon tlie seven-hilled city's pride ; 
She saw her glories star by star expire. 
And up the steep° barbarian monarchs ride, 715 

Where the car climbed the Capitol ; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : 
Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void. 
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light. 
And say, 'here was, or is,' where all is doubly night? 720 



CANTO FOURTH 143 

LXXXI 

The double night of ages, and of her, 
Night's daughter. Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap 
All round us ; we but feel our way to err : 
The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 
And Knowledge spreads tlieni on her ample lap ; 725 

But Rome is as the desert, wliere we steer 
Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap 
Our hands, and cry ' Eureka ' ! it is clear — 
When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 

LXXXII 

Alas, the lofty city ! and alas, 730 

The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! 
Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, 
And Livy's pictured page ! but these shall be 735 

Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free ! 

LXXXIII 

Oh thou, whose chariot rolled on Fortune's wheel. 
Triumphant Sylla ! ° Tliou, who didst subdue 710 

Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to feel 
The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
Of hoarded vengeance till tliine eagles flew 
O'er prostrate Asia ; — thou, who with thy frown 
Annihilated senates — Roman, too, 745 

With all thy vices, for tliou didst lay down 
With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown — 



144 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

LXXXIV 

The dictatorial wreath, — couldst tliou divine 
To wliat would one day dwindle that which made 
Thee more than mortal 1 and that so supine 750 

By aught tlian Romans Rome should tluis be laid 1 
She who was named eternal, and arrayed 
Her warriors but to conquer — she who veiled 
Earth with her haughty shadow, and displayed, 
Until the o'er-canopied horizon ftiiled, 755 

Her rushing wings — Oh, she who was Almighty hailed ! 

LXXXV 

Sylla was first of victors ; but our own, , 
The sagcst of usurpers, Cromwell ! ° — he 
Too swept off senates while he hewed the throne 
Down to a block — immortal rebel ! See 760 

What crimes it costs to be a moment free, 
And famous through all ages ! but beneath 
His fate the moral lurks of destiny ; 
His day of double victory and death° 
Beheld him win two realms, and happier, yield his breath. 765 

LXXXVI 

The third of the same moon whose former course 
Had all but crowned him, on tlie selfsame day 
Deposed him gently from his throne of force, 
And laid him with the earth's preceding clay. 
And showed not Fortune thus how fame and sway, 770 

And all we deem delightful, and consume 
Our souls to compass through each arduous way, 
Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb ? 
Were they but so in man's how ditfcrent were his doom ! 



CANTO FOURTH 145 

LXXXVII 

And thou, dread statiic,° yet existent in 775 

The austerest form of naked innjesty, 
Thou who beheldcst, 'mid the assassin's din, 
At thy bathed base the bloody Oiesar lie, 
Foldinf? his robe in dying dignity, 

An offering to thine altar from the (jueen 780 

Of gods and men, gn^at N(;mesis ! ° did he die, 
And thou, too, perish, Pompey ? have ye been 
Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene ? 

LXXXVIII 

And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse° of Rome ! 
She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged dugs impart 785 

The milk of con(|uest yet witiiin the dome° 
Where, as a monument of anti(iue art, 
Tiiou standest : — Mother of tlK; mighty heart, 
Which the great founder sucked from thy wild teat, 
ScohjIkmI l)y the Roman Jove's (ethereal dart, 790 

And thy limbs black with lightning — dost thou yet 
Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge forget ? 

LXXXIX 

Thou dost ; but all thy foster-babes are dead — 
Tlie men of iron ; and the world hath reared 
Cities from out their sepulchres : men bled 795 

In imitation of the things they feared. 
And fouglit and con(]uered, and the same course steered, 
At apisli distance ; but as yet none have. 
Nor could, the same supn^macy have neared. 
Save one vain man,° who is not in the grave, 800 

But, vanquished by himself, to his own slaves a slave — 



146 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XC 

The fool of false dominion — and a kind 
Of bastard Ca3sar, following him of old 
With steps unequal ; for the Roman's mind 
Was modelled in a less terrestrial mould, 805 

With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold, 
And an immortal instinct which redeemed 
The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold, 
Alcides° with the distaff now he seemed 
At Cleopatra's feet, — and now himself he beamed, 810 

xci 

And came — and saw — and conquered ! But the man 
Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, 
Like a trained falcon, in the Gallic van. 
Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, 
With a deaf heart, which never seemed to be 815 

A listener to itself, was strangely framed ; 
With but one weakest weakness — vanity, 
Coquettish in ambition, still he aimed — 
At what ? can he avouch or answer what he claimed ? 

XCII 

And would be all or nothing — nor could wait S20 

For the sure grave to level him ; few years 
Had fixed him with the Caesars in his fate, 
On whom we tread : For this the conqueror rears 
The arch of triumph ; and for this the tears 
And blood of earth flow on as they have flowed, 825 

An universal deluge, whicl] appears 
Without an ark for wretched man's abode, 
And ebbs but to reflow ! Renew thy rainbow, God ! 



CANTO FOURTH 147 



XCIII 



What from this barren being do we reap? 
Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, 830 

Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, 
And all things weighed in custom's falsest scale ; 
Opinion an omnipotence, — whose veil 
Mantles the earth with darkness, until right 
And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale 835 

Lest their own judgments should become too bright, 
And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too much 
light. 

XCIV 

And thus they plod in sluggish misery, 
Rotting from sire to son, and age to age, 
Proud of their ti-ampled nature, and so die, 840 

Bequeathing their hereditaiy rage 
To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage 
War for their chains, and rather than be free, 
Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage 

Within the same arena where they see 845 

Their fellows fall before, ° like leaves of the same tree. 

xcv 

I speak not of men's creeds — they rest between 
Man and his Maker — but of things allowed. 
Averred, and known, and daily, hourly seen — 
The yoke that is upon us doubly bowed, 850 

And the intent of tyranny avowed. 
The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown 
The apes of him who humbled once the proud. 
And shook them from their slumbers on the throne ; 
Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. 855 



148 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

XCVI 

Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be, 
And Freedom find no champion and no child 
Such as Cohimbia saw arise when she 
Sprung forth a Pallas, ° armed and undefiled? 
Or must such minds be nourished in the wild, 860 

Deep in the unpruned forest 'midst the roar 
Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled 
On infant Washington ? ° Has Earth no more 
Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore ? 

XCVII 

But France got drunk° with blood to vomit crime, 865 

And fatal have her Saturnalia been 
To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime ; 
Because the deadly days which we have seen, 
And vile Ambition, that built up between 
Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, 870 

And the base pageant last upon the scene. 
Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall 
Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst — his second fall. 

XCVIII 

Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying. 
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; 875 

Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, 
The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; 
Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind. 
Chopped by the axe, looks rough and little worth, 
But the sap lasts, ° — and still the seed we find 880 

Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North ; ° 
So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. 



CANTO FOURTH 149 

XCIX 

There is a stern round tower° of other days, 
Firm as a fortress, ° with its fence of stone, 
Such as an army's baffled strength delays, 885 

Standing with half its battlements alone. 
And with two thousand years of ivy grown, 
The garland of eternity, where wave 
The green leaves over all by time o'erthrown : — 
What was this tower of strength ? within its cave 890 

What treasure lay so locked, so hid ? — A woman's grave. 



But who was she, the lady of the dead. 
Tombed in a palace 1 Was she chaste and fair 1 
Worthy a king's or more — a Roman's bed 1 
What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear? 895 

What daughter of her beauties was the heir'? 
How lived, how loved, how died she 1 Was she not 
So honoured — and conspicuously there. 
Where meaner relics must not dare to rot. 
Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot ? 900 

CI 

Was she as those who love their lords, or they 

Who love the lords of others 1 such have been 
• Even in the olden time, Rome's annals say. 

Was she a matron of Cornelia's" mien. 

Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen," 905 

Profuse of joy — or 'gainst it did she war. 

Inveterate in virtue ? Did she lean 

To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar 
Love from amongst her griefs ? — for such the affections are. 



150 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CII 

Perchance she died in youth ; it may be, bowed 910 

With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb 
That weighed upon her gentle dust, a cloud 
Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom 
In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom 

Heaven gives its favourites — early death ; yet shed 915 

A sunset charm around her, and illume 
With hectic light, the Hesperus° of the dead. 
Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red.° 

cm 

Perchance she died in age — surviving all. 
Charms, kindred, children — with the silver gray 920 

On her long tresses, which might yet recall, 
It may be, still a something of the day 
When they were braided, and her proud array 
And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed 
By Rome — But whither would Conjecture stray ? 925 

Thus much alone we know — Metella died, 
The wealthiest Roman's wife : Behold his love or pride ! 

CIV 

I know not why — but standing thus by thee° 
It seems as if I had thine inmate known. 
Thou Tomb, and other days come back to me 930 

With recollected music, though the tone 
Is changed and solemn, like a cloudy groan 
Of dying thunder on the distant wind ; 
Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone 
Till I had bodied forth the heated mind 935 

Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves behind ; 



CANTO FOURTH 151 



CV 



And from the planks, far shattered o'er the rocks, 
Built me a little bark of hope, once more 
To battle with the ocean and the shocks 
Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar 940 

Which rushes on the solitary shore 
Where all lies foundered^ that was ever dear : 
But could I gather from the wave-worn store 
Enough for my rude boat, where should T steer ? 
There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here. 945 

cvi 

Then let the winds howl on ! their harmony 
Shall henceforth be my music, and the night 
The sound shall temper with the owlets' cry 
As I now hear them, in the fading light 
Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site, 950 

Answering each other on the Palatine, 
Witli their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright, 
And sailing pinions. — Upon such a shrine 
What are our petty griefs ? — let me not number mine. 

CVII 

Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown 955 

Matted and massed together, hillocks heaptnl 
On what were chambers, arch crushed, column strown 
In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steeped 
In subterranean damps, where the owl peeped, 
Deeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls ? 960 

Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning reaped 
From her research hath been, that these are walls — 
Behold the Imperial Mount ! '^ 'tis thus the mighty falls. 



152 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CVIII 

There is the moral of all human tales ; 

'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, 965 

First freedom and then glory — when that fails, 
Weal til, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last, 
And History, with all her volumes vast. 
Hath but one page — 'tis better written here, 
Where gorgeous Tyranny hath thus amassed 970 

All treasures, all delights, that eye or car, 
Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask — Away with words — 
draw near, 

cix 

Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep, — for here 
There is such matter for all feeling : — Man, 
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear ! 975 

Ages and realms are crowded in this span. 
This mountain, whose obliterated plan 
The pyramid of empires pinnacled. 
Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van 

Till the sun's rays with added flame were filled ! 980 

Where are its golden roofs 1 where those who dared to build 1 



cx 

Tully was not so eloquent as thou. 
Thou nameless column° with the buried base ! 
What are the laurels of the Ciesar's brow 1 
Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 985 

Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, 
Titus or Trajan's T No — 'tis that of Time ; 
Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace 
Scofling ; and apostolic statues° climb 
To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes° slept sublime, 990 



4 



i 



CANTO FOURTH 153 

CXI 

Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, 
And looking to the stars : they had contained 
A spirit whit^h with these would find a home, 
The last of those who o'er the whole earth reigned, 
The Roman globe, ° for after none sustained, 995 

But yielded back his conquests : — he was more 
Than a mere Alexander, and unstained 
With household blood and wine,° serenely wore 
His sovereign virtues — still we Trajan's name adore. ° 

CXII 

Where is the rock of Triumph," tlie high place 1000 

Where Rome embraced" her heroes 1 wliore the steep 
Tarpeian,° fittest goal of Treason's race, 
The promontory" whence the Traitor's Leap 
Cured all ambition 1 Did the (conquerors heap 
Their spoils here ? Yes ; and in yon field below 1005 

A thousand years of silenced fiictions sleep — 
The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, 
And still the eloquent air bieathes — burns with Cicero ! 

CXIII 

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood : 
Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, loio 

From the first liour of empire in the bud 
To that when further worlds to conquer failed ; 
But long before had Freedom's face been veiled, 
And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; 

Till every lawless soldier who assailed 1015 

Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes, 
Or raised the venal voice" of baser prostitutes. 



154 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CXIV 

Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, 
From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, 
Redeemer of dark centuries of shame — 1020 

The friend of Petrarch — hope of Italy — 
Rienzi,° last of Romans ! While the tree 
Of freedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf. 
Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — 
The forum's champion, and the people's chief — 1025 

Her new-born Numa° thou — with reign, alas ! too brief. 

cxv 

Egeria,° sweet creation of some heart 
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair 
As thine ideal breast ! whate'er thou art 
Or wert, — a young Aurora of tlie air, 1030 

The nympholepsy of some fond despair ; 
Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth. 
Who found a more than common votary there 
Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth. 
Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. 1035 

CXVI 

The mosses of thy fountain^ still are sprinkled 
With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face 
Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled. 
Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place. 
Whose green, wild margin now no more erase 1040 

Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters sleep. 
Prisoned in marble ; bubbling from the base 
Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 
The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy creep. 



CANTO FOURTH 155 

CXVII 

Fantastically tangled ; the green hills 1045 

Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass 
The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 
Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ; 
Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class. 
Implore the pausing step, and with tlieir dies 1050 

Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; 
The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, 
Kissed by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its skies. 

CXVIII 

Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, 

Egeria, thy all heavenly bosom beating 1055 

For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover ! 
The purple Midnight° veiled that mystic meeting 
With her most starry canopy, and seating 
Thyself by thine adorer, what befell ? 

This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting 1060 

Of an enamoured Goddess, and the cell 
Haunted by holy Love — the earliest oracle ! 

CXIX 

And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying. 
Blend a celestial with a human heart ; 

And Love, wliicli dies as it was boi'u, in sighing, 1065 

Share with immortal transports ? could tliine art 
Make them indeed immortal, and impart 
The purity of heaven to earthly joys. 
Expel tlie venom and not blunt the dart — 
The dull satiety which all destroys — 1070 

And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys. 



156 CIULDK HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

c'XX 

Ahis ! our young ;ilte(!tioiis run to waste, 
Or water but the desert ; whence arise 
But weeds of (hirk hixurianee, tares of haste, 
Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, 1075 

Flowers whose wild odours bn^athe but agonies, 
And trees whose gums are poison ; such the plants 
Which spring beneath her steps as Passion Hies 
O'er the world's wiUlerness, and vainly pants 
For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. 1080 

CXXI 

Oh Love, no habitant of earth° thou art — 
An unseen seraj)h, we believe in thee, — 
A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, — 
But never yet luith seen, nor e'er sliall see 
The na,k(Hl eye, thy form, as it slioidd be ; 10S5 

The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven. 
Even with its own desiring phantasy. 
And to a thought such shape and image given, 
As haunts the unquenched soul — parched, wearied, wrung, 
and riven. 

CXXII 

Of its own beauty is tlie mind diseased, 1090 

And fevers into false creation. Where, 
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized 1 
In him alone. Can nature sliow so fair 1 
Where are the charms and virtues which we dare 
Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men, 1095 

The inireached Parailise of our despair, 
Wiiich o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, 
And overpowers the page where it would bloom again 1 



CANTO FOURTH 157 

CXXIII 

Who loves, raves — 'tis youth's frenzy — but the cure 
Is bitterer still, as charm by charui unwinds noo 

Which robed our idols, and we see too sure 
Nor worth nor Ix^auty dwells from out the mind's 
Ideal shai)e of such ; yet still it binds 
The fatal spell, and still it draws us on, 
Reapinf( th(; whirlwind from the oft-sown winds ; 1105 

The stubborn heart, its alchemy be^un. 
Seems ever near the prize° — wealthiest when most undone. 

(;xxiv 

We wither from our youth, ° we gasp away — 
Sick — sick; unfound the boon, unslaked the tliirst, 
Tiiough to the last, in verge of our decay, mo 

Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first — 
But all too late, — so are we doubly curst. 
Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same, 
Each idle, and all ill, and nom; the worst — 
For all arc nusteors with a different name, 
And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame. 



1115 



cxxv 

Few — none — find what they love or could have loved. 
Though accident, blind contact, and the strong 
Necessity of loving, have removed 

Antipathies — but to recur, ere long, 1120 

EnvenonK.'d with irrevocable wrong ; 
And Circumstance, that unspiritual god 
And miscreator, makes and h(;lps along 
Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, 1124 

Whose touch turns hope to dust, — the dust we all have trod. 



158 CHILDE HAROLD^ S PILGRIMAGE 

CXXVI 

Our life is a false nature : 'tis not in 
The harmony of things, — this hard decree, 
This uneradicable taint of sin, 
This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree, 
Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be 1130 

The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew — 
Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see, 
And worse, the woes we see not — which throb tlirough 
The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. 

CXXVII 

Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base 1135 

Abandonment of reason to resign 
Our right of thought — our last and only place 
Of refuge : this at least, shall still be mine : 
Though from our birth the faculty divine 
Is chained and tortured — cabined, cribbed, confined, 1140 
And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine 
Too brightly on the unprepared mind. 
The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the blind. 

CXXVIII 

Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome, 
Collecting the chief trophies of her line, 1145 

Would build up all her triumphs in one dome. 
Her Coliseum" stands ; the moonbeams shine 
As 'twere its natural torches, for divine 
Should be the liglit which streams here, to illume 
This long-explored but still exhaustless mine 1150 

Of contemplation ; and the azure gloom 
Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume 



CANTO FOURTH 159 

CXXIX 

Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, 
Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, 
And shadows forth its glory. There is given 1155 

Unto the things of earth, which time hatli bent, 
A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant 
His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power 
And magic in tlie ruined battlement. 

For which the palace of the present hour 1160 

Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. 

cxxx 

Oh Time, the beautifier of the dead, 
Adorner of the ruin, comforter 
And only healer when the heart hath bled ! — 
Time ! the corrector where our judgments err, 1165 

The test of truth, love — sole philosopher. 
For all beside are sophists — from thy thrift. 
Which never loses though it doth defer — 
Time, the avenger ! unto thee I hft 
My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift : 1170 

cxxxi 

Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine 
And temple more divinely desolate. 
Among thy mightier offerings here arc mine, 
Ruins of years, though few, yet full of fate : 
If thou hast ever seen me too elate, 1175 

Hear me not ; but if calmly I have borne 
Good, and reserved my pride against the hate 
Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn 
This iron in my soul in vain — shall they not mourn ? 



160 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CXXXII 

And thou, who never yet of human wrong 1180 

Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! ° 
Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long — 
Thou, who didst call the Furies° from the abyss, 
And round Orestes° bade them howl and hiss 
For tliat unnatural retribution — just, 1185 

Had it but been from hands less near — in this 
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust ! 
Dost thou not hear my heart? — Awake ! thou shalt, and must. 

CXXXIII 

It is not that T may not have incurred 

For my ancestral faults or mine the wound 1190 

I bleed withal, and had it been conferred 
With a just weapon, it had flowed unbound ; 
But now my blood shall not sink in the ground : 
To thee I do devote it — thou shalt take 
The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found 1195 
Which if / have not taken for the sake — 
But let that pass — I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. 

CXXXIV 

And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now 
I shrink from what is suff'ered : let him speak 
Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, 1200 

Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak ; 
But on this page a record will I seek. 
Not in the air shall these my words disperse, 
Though I be ashes ; a far hour shall wreak 
The deep prophetic fulness of this verse, 1205 

And pile on human heads the mountains of my curse ! 



CANTO FOURTH 161 



cxxxv 



That curse shall be Forgiveness, — Have I not — 
Hear me, my mother Earth ! behold it, Heaven ! — 
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot ? 
Have I not suffered things to be forgiven 1 1210 

Have I not had my brain seared, my h.eart riven, 
Hopes sapped, name blighted. Life's life lied away 1 
And only not to desperation driven. 
Because not altogether of such clay° 
As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. 12 15 

CXXXVI 

From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy 
Have I not seen what human things could do ? 
From the loud roar of foaming calumny 
To the small whisper of the as paltry few, 
And subtler venom of the reptile crew, 1220 

The Janus glance of whose significant eye, 
Learning to lie with silence, would seem true, 
And without utterance, save tlie shrug or sigh, 
Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. 

CXXXVII 

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : ° 1225 

My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, 
And my frame perish even in conquering pain ; 
But there is that within me which shall tire 
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; 
Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 1230 

Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre. 
Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move 
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. 



162 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILUHIMAGE 

CXXXVIII 

The seal is set. — Now welcome, thou dread power,° 
Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here 1235 

Walkest in the shadow of the midnight hour 
With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear ! 
Tliy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
Tlieir ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 
Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear 1240 

That we become a part of what has been, 
And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. 

CXXXIX 

And here tlie buzz of eager nations ran. 
In murmured pity, or loud-roared applause, 
As man was slaughtered by his fellow man. 1245 

And wherefore slaughtered 1 wherefore, but because 
Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws, 
And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not ? 
What matters where we foil to fill the maws 
Of worms, — on battle-plains or listed spot ? 1250 

Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. 



CXL 

I see before me the Gladiator lie :° 

He leans upon his hands — his manly brow 

Consents to death, but conquers agony. 

And his drooped head sinks gradually low — 1255 

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
■ From the red gash, tall heavy, one by one. 

Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 

The arena swims around him — he is gone, 1259 

Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won. 



CANTO FOURTH 1G3 

CXLI 

He beard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 
Were with his heart, and tliat was far away ; 
He recked not of the life he lost nor prize. 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
There were his young barbarians all at play, 1265 

Tke7'e was their Daeian niother° — he, their sire, 
Butchered to make a Roman holiday — 
All this rushed with his blood — Shall he expire 
And unavenged 1 Arise ! ye Goths,° and glut your ire ! 

CXLII 

But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam ; 1270 
And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways. 
And roared or nuirnuired like a mountain stream 
Dashing or winding as its torrent strays ; 
Here, where the Roman millions' blame or praise 
Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, 1275 

My voice sounds nmch — and fall the stars' foint rays 
On the arena void — seats crushed — walls bowed — 
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. 

CXLIII 

A ruin — yet what ruin ! — from its mass° 
Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared; 1280 

Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass. 
And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. 
Hath it indeed been plundered, or but cleared 1 
Alas ! developed, opens the decay. 

When the colossal fabric's form is ncared : 1285 

It will not bear the brightness of the day, 
Which streams too much to all, years man have reft away. 



164 CHILD E HAROLD'S PlLGIilMAGE 

CXLIV 

But when the rising moon begins to climb° 
Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; 
When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, 1290 

And the low night-breeze waves along the air 
Tiie garland-forest, which the gray walls wear,° 
Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head ; 
When the light shines serene but doth not glare, 
Then in this magic circle raise the dead : 1295 

Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. 

CXLV 

* While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; ° 
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall, 
And when Rome falls — the World.' ° From our own land 
Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall 1300 

In Saxon times, which we are wont to call 
Ancient ; and these three mortal things are still 
On tlieir foundations, and unaltered all ; 
Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill. 
The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will. 1305 

CXLVI 

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — 
Shrine of all saints° and temple of all gods, 
From Jove to Jesus — spared and blessed by time ; 
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods 
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods 1310 

His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! 
Shalt thou not last ? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods 
Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home 
Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Rome ! 



CANTO FOURTH 165 



CXLVII 



Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts ! 1315 

Despoiled yet perfect, with thy circle spreads 
A holiness appealing to all hearts — 
To art a model ; and to him who treads 
Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds 

Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those 1320 

Who worship, here are altars for their beads ; 
And they wlio feel for genius may repose 
Their eyes on honoured forms, whose busts around them close. 

CXLVIII 

There is a dungeon, ° in whose dim drear light 
What do I gaze on ? Nothing : Look again ! 1325 

Two forms are slowly shadowed on my sight — 
Two insulated phantoms of the brain : 
It is not so ; I sec them full and pl.ain — 
An old man, and a female young and fair, 
Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein 1330 

The blood is nectar : — But what doth she there, 
With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare ? 

CXLIX 

Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, 
Where on the heart and from the heart we took 
Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, 1335 

Blest into mother, in the innocent look. 
Or even the piping cry of lips that brook 
No pain, and small suspense, a joy perceives 
Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook 
She sees her little bud put forth its leaves — 1340 

What may the fruit be yet ? — I know not — Cain was Eve's. 



166 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CL 

But here youth offers to old age the food, 
The milk of his own gift : it is her sire 
To whom she renders back the debt of blood 
Born with her birth. No ; he shall not expire 1345 

While in those warm and lovely veins the fire 
Of health and holy feeling can provide 
Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher 
Than Egypt's river : from that gentle side 
Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's realm holds no 

such tide. 1350 

CLI 

The starry fable° of the milky way 
Has not thy story's purity : it is 
A constellation of a sweeter ray, 
And sacred Nature triumphs more in this 
Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss 1355 

Where sparkle distant worlds : — Oh, holiest nurse ! 
No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss 
To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source 
With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. ° 

CLII 

Turn to the mole° which Hadrian reared on high, 1360 

Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles. 
Colossal copyist of deformity, 
Whose travelled phantasy° jfrom the far Nile's 
Enormous model, doomed the artist's toils 
To build for giants, and for his vain earth, 1365 

His shrunken ashes, raised his doom : How smiles 
The gazer's eye with. philosophic mirth, 
To view the huge design which sprung from such a birth ! 



CANTO FOURTH 167 



CLIII 



But lo ! the dome° — the vast and wondrous dome, 
To which Diana's marver was a cell — 1370 

Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! 
I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle ; — 
Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell 
The hyaena and the jackal in their shade ; 
I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs° swell 1375 

Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have surveyed 
Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem° prayed ; 

CLIV 

But thou, of temples old, or altars new, 
Standest alone, with nothing like to thee — 
Worthiest of God the holy and the true. 1380 

Since Zion's desolation,° when that He 
Forsook his former city, what could be. 
Of earthly structures, in his honour piled. 
Of a sublimer aspect ? Majesty, 

Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty all are aisled 1385 

In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 

CLV 

Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; 
And why 1 it is not lessened ; but thy mind, 
Expanded by the genius of the spot. 

Has grown colossal, and can only find 1390 

A fit abode wherein appear enshrined 
Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou 
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined. 
See thy God° face to face, as thou dost now 
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. 1395 



168 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 



CLVI 



1 



Thou movest, but increasing with the advance, 
Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise. 
Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; 
Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonise — 
All musical in its immensities ; 1400 

Rich marbles, richer painting — shrines where flame 
The lamps of gold -^ and haughty dome which vies 
In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame 
Sits on the firm-set ground, and this the clouds must claim. 

CLV 

Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thou must break, 1405 

To separate contemplation, the great whole ; 
And as the ocean many bays will make 
That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul 
To more immediate objects, and control 
Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart 1410 

Its eloquent proportions, and unroll 
In mighty graduations, part by part. 
The glory which at once upon thee did not dart, 

CLVIII 

Not by its fault — but thine : Our outward sense 
Is but of gradual grasp — and as it is 141 5 

That what we have of feeling most intense 
Outstrips our faint expression : even so this 
Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice 
Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great 
Defies at first our Nature's littleness, 1420 

Till, growing with its growth, ° we thus dilate 
Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. 



CANTO FOURTH 169 



CLIX 



Then pause, and be enlightened ; there is more 
In such a survey than the sating gaze 

Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 1425 

The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
Of art and its great masters, who could raise 
What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan ; 
The fountain of sublimity° displays 

Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 1430 

Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. 

CLX 

Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
Laocoon's torture° dignifying pain — 
A father's love and mortal's agony 

With an immortal patience blending : Vain 1435 

The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain 
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, 
The old man's clench ; the long envenomed chain 
Rivets the living links, — the enormous asp 
Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. 1440 

CLXI 

Or view the Lord of the unerring bow,° 
The God of life, and poesy, and light — 
The sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow 
All radiant from his triumph in the fight ; 
The shaft" hath just been shot — the arrow bright 1445 

With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye 
And nostril beautiful disdain, and might 
And majesty, flash their full lightnings by. 
Developing in that one glance the Deity. 



170 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CLXII 

But in his delicate form — a dream of Love, 1450 

Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
Longed for a deathless lover from above, 
And maddened in that vision — are exprest 
All that ideal beauty ever blessed 

The mind with, in its most unearthly mood, 1455 

When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
A ray of immortality — and stood, 
Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god ! 

CLXIII 

And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven 
The fire which we endure, it was repaid 1460 

By him to whom the energy was given 
Which this poetic marble hath arrayed 
With an eternal glory — which, if made 
By human hands, is not of hiiman thought ; 
And Time himself hath hallowed it, nor laid 1465 

One ringlet in the dust — nor hath it caught 
A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 
'twas wrought. 

CLXIV 

But where is he,° the Pilgrim of my song. 
The being who upheld it through the past ? 
Methinks he cometh late and tarries long. 1470 

He is no more° — these breathings are his last ; 
His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, 
And he himself is nothing : — if he was 
Aught but a phantasy, and could be classed 
With forms which live and suffer — let that pass — 1475 

His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, 



CANTO FOURTH 171 



CLXV 



Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all 
That we inherit in its mortal shroud, 
And spreads the dim and universal pall 
Through which all things grow phantoms ; and the cloud 1480 
Between us sinks and all which ever glowed, 
Till Glory's self is twilight, and displays 
A melancholy halo scarce allowed. 
To hover on the verge of darkness ; rays 
Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze. 1485 

CLXVI 

And send us prying into the abyss. 
To gather what we shall be when the frame 
Shall be resolved to something less than this 
Its wretched essence ; and to dream of fame. 
And wipe the dust from off the idle name 1490 

We never more shall hear, — but never more, 
Oh, happier thought ! can we be made the same : 
It is enough in sooth that once we bore 
These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was gore. 

CLXVII 

Hark — forth from the abyss a voice proceeds," 1495 

A long low distant murmur of dread sound, 
Such as arises when a nation bleeds 
With some deep and immedicable wound ; 
Through storm and darkness yawns the rending ground, 
The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief 1500 

Seems royal still, though with her head discrowned. 
And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief 
She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief. 



172 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CLXVIII 

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ? 
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ? 1505 

Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low 
Some less majestic, less beloved head 1 
In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, 
The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy. 

Death hushed that pang for ever : with thee fled 15 10 

The present happiness and promised joy 
Which filled the imperial isles so full it seemed to cloy. 

CLXIX 

Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be, 
Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored, 
Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, 15 15 

And freedom's heart grown heavy, cease to hoard 
Her many griefs for One ! for she had poured 
Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head 
Beheld her Iris. — Thou, too, lonely lord. 
And desolate consort — vainly wert thou wed ! 1520 

The husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! 

CLXX 

Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ; 
Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust 
The fiiir haired Daughter of the Isles is laid. 
The love of millions ! How we did entrust 1525 

Futurity to her ; and, though it must 
Darken above our bones, yet fondly deemed 
Our children should obey her child, and blessed 
Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seemed 1529 

Like stars to shepherd's eyes : — 'twas but a meteor beamed. 



CANTO FOURTH 173 

CLXXI 

Woe unto us, not her ; for she sleeps well : 
Tlie fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue 
Of hollow counsel, tlie Mse oracle, 
Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung 
Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung 1535 

Nations have armed in madness, the strange fate° 
Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung 
Against their blind omnipotence a weight 
Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late, — 

CLXXII 

These might have been her destiny ; but no, 1540 

Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair, 
Good without effort, great without a foe. 
But now a bride and mother — and now there ! 
How many ties did that stern moment tear ! 
From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast 1545 

Is linked the electric chain of that despair. 
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest 
The land which loved thee so that none could love thee best. 

CLXXIII 

Lo, Nemi ! ° navelled in the woody hills 
So far, that the uprooting wind which tears 1550 

The oak from his foundation, and which spills 
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears 
Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares 
The oval mirror of thy glassy lake ; 

And calm as cherished hate, its surface wears 1555 

A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake. 
All coiled into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. 



174 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CLXXIV 

And near, Albano's scarce divided waves° 
Shine from a sister valley ; — and afar 

The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves 1560 

The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war, 
'Arms and the man,'° whose re-ascending star 
Rose o'er an empire : — but beneath thy right 
TuUy reposed from Rome ; — and where yon bar 
Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight 1565 

The Sabine farm° was tilled, ' the weary bard's ' delight. 

CLXXV 

But I forget. — My Pilgrim's shrine is won, 
And he and I must part, — so let it be, — 
His task and mine alike are nearly done ; 
Yet once more let us look upon the sea ; 1570 

The midland ocean° breaks on him and me, 
And from the Alban Mount we now behold 
Our friend of youth, that Ocean, which when we 
Beheld it last by Calpe's rock° unfold 
Those waves, we followed on till the dark Euxine rolled 1575 

CLXXVI 

Upon the blue Symplegades : ° long years — 
Long, though not very many — since have done 
Their work on both ; some suffering and some tears 
Have left us nearly where we had begun : 
Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run ; 1580 

We have had our reward, and it is here, — 
That we can yet feel gladdened by the sun, 
And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear 
As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. 



VANTO FOURTH 175 

CLXXVII 

Oh ! that the Desert were my dwelling-place, ° 1585 

With one fair Spirit for my minister, 
That I might all forget the human race, 
And, hating no one, love but only her ! 
Ye elements ! — in whose ennobling stir 
I feel myself exalted — Can ye not 1590 

Accord me such a being V Do I err 
In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? 
Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. 

CLXXVIII 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, ° 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 1595 

There is society, where none intrudes. 
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : 
I love not Man the less, but Nature more. 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 1600 

To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

CLXXIX 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll !° 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save liis own. 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
He sinks into thy depths witli bubbling groan, 1610 

Without a grave, unknelled, uncottined, and unknown. 



1605 



176 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CLXXX 

His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 
And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 1615 

Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
And scndcst him shivering in thy playful spray 
And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. 1620 

CLXXXI 

The armaments which thunderstrike the wfills 
Of rock -built cities, bidding nations quake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 1625 

Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war — 
These are thy toys, and as the snowy flake, 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. 

CLXXXII 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — 1630 

Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they 1 
Thy waters washed them power while they were free, 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ! their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou ; 1635 

Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play — 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 



4 



CANTO FOURTH 177 

CLXXXIII 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, — 1640 

Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime, 
The image of eternity, the throne 

Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 1645 

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

CLXXXIV 

And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy° 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 1650 

I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, 
For I was as it were a child of thee, 

And trusted to thy billows ftir and near, 1655 

And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.° 

CLXXXV 

My task is done,° my song has ceased, my theme 
Has died into an echo ; it is fit 
The spell should break of this protracted dream. 
The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit 1660 

My midnight lamp — and what is writ, is writ ; 
Would it were worthier ! but I am not now 
That which I have been — and my visions flit 
Less palpably before me — and the glow 
Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low. 1665 



178 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 

CLXXXVI 

Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been — 
A sound which makes us linger ; — yet — farewell ! 
Ye ! who have traced the pilgrim to the scene 
Which is his last, if in your memories dwell 
A thought which once was his, if on ye swell 1670 

A single recollection, not in vain 
He wore his sandal-shoon,° and scallop-shell ; ° 
Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, 
If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain. 



CHRONOLOGICAL 



FIRST PERIOD, 1788-1811 

1788. Born in Hollis Street, London. 

171)0-1798. At Aberdeen. 

1792. At Mr. Bowers's school. 

1708. Removes to the ancestral abbey at Newstead. 

1700. At Sloane Terrace, London. 

1800. " First dash into poetry." 

1800-1805. At Harrow. 

1805. Enters Cambridge University. 

1800-1807. Juvenilia^ and Hours of Idleness. 

Cambridge friends : Harness, Long, Matthews, Hodg- 
son, Drury, Davies, and Ilobhouse. Vacations at 
Newstead, London, and Southwell. 
1808. Receives degree of M.A. Succeeds to title by death of 

grand-uncle. 
1800. Takes his seat in the House of Lords as George Gordon, 

sixth Lord Byron. English Bards and Scotch lieviewers. 

Visits Italy, Spain, and Greece. Begins Childe UaroUVs 

Pilfjrwiage. 

1811. Returns to London. 

SECOND PERIOD, 1812-1815 

1812. First Speech in House of Lords. Childe Harold, Cantos I. 

and II. The Curse of Minerva. 
179 



180 CHRONOLOGICAL 

1813. The Waltz. The Giaour. The Bride of Abydos. 

1814. The Corsair. Ode to Napoleoii Buonaparte. Lara. 

1815. Marries Miss Milbanke. Hebrew Melodies. Meets Scott. 



THIRD PERIOD, 1816-1824 

In Switzerland, Italy, and Greece 

1810. The Siege of Corinth^ and Parisina. Childe Harold, Canto 
III, The Prisoner of Chillon. Monody on the Death of 
Sheridan. With the Shelleys. 

1817. Manfred. The Lament of Tasso. 

1818. Childe Harold, Canto IV. 

1819. Beppo. Mazeppa. Don Juan, Cantos I., II. Sells Newstead. 

1820. At Ravenna. 
1821-1822. At Pisa and Genoa. 

1821. Don Juan, Cantos III., IV., V. Marino. Faliero. The 

Prophecy of Dante. Sardajiapalus. The Two Foscari. 
Cain. 

1822. The Vision of Judgment. Heaven and Earth. Shelley 

drowned. 

1823. Don Juan, Cantos VI.-XIV. Morgante Maggiore. Werner. 

The Age of Bronze. The Island. Expedition to Greece. 

1824. Don Juan, Cantos XV.-XVI. The Deformed Transformed. 

Death at Missolonghi, April 10. Buried in the village 
church, IIucknall-Torkard, England, July 16. 



NOTES 



Childe Harold is the, most interesting of all Byron's poems as 
a revelation of the author, for it is connected with the three periods 
of his life and work. (Jantos 1. and II. were composed in the first 
period, and published in the second ; while cantos III. and IV. were 
composed and published in the third. He had been at Harrow and 
Cambridge, and had published / 1 <nirs of Idleness, which were much 
like the early poems of other great poets, and contained nuich chaff 
and a little wheat, sufficient for a modc^st sowing, but capable of 
producing abundant harvest. The severe criticism which the Edin- 
bnr(jh lieview dealt out to this little volume so exasi)erated the poet 
that soon after he had taken his scat in the House of Lords he 
creat(!d that modern Dmwiad, which he later called "a record 
of misplaced anger and indiscriminate acrimony," The Emilish 
Bards and Scotch lleviewers, in which he gave no quarter to poet 
or critic. He was then living at Newstead Abbey, where, in com- 
pany with a few college favorites, Matthews, Davies, Hodgson, 
and Hobhouse, he held high carnival, talking on poetry and phi- 
l()Sf)phy ; telling stories of tlie early fre(pienters of the abbey ; 
drinking wine out of skull cups made from the crainums of the 
old abbots ; rjding, rowing, fencing, and playing with the wolf and 
bear which guarded the entrance to the abbey. 

On the 2d of July, 1809, he set sail from Falmouth with his 
friend Hobhouse, a valet by the name of Fletcher, his old butler 
Murray, and Kushton, the son of one of his tenants. They 
reached Lisbon in about twelve days. After visiting ('intra, they 
rode through Spain, stopping at Seville and Cadiz. Hence by ship 

181 



182 NOTES 

via Gibraltar to Malta, where they remained three weeks. Sailing 
from Malta in the Spider, they coasted Acarnania, in view of 
Ithaca and Actium. Landing at Previsa, they took a tour through 
Albania, — 

" Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales." 

At Janina they were entertained by order of Ali Pasha, the famous 
bandit. Here Childe Harold was begun. Then by Acherusia's 
lake and Zitza to Tepalen, where Ali Pasha met them in person. 
Thence through Epirus and Acarnania to Missolonghi, Patras, 
and Vostizza, where they caught sight of the snowy peaks of Par- 
nassus. Visiting Delphi and Thebes, they reached Athens on 
Christmas Day. They remained in Athens about three months, and 
visited Eleusis, Hymettus, and Marathon. In March they went to 
Smyrna, where the second canto of Childe Harold was completed ; 
thence to the Troad and Constantinople. Here Hobhouse returned 
to England, while Byron remained, spending his time in Athens 
and its vicinity until July, 1811, when, because of lack of funds, 
he returned to England, "without a hope and almost without a 
desire." 

During his absence he had actually composed but little poetry 
besides the Childe Harold, only Hints from Horace and The Curse 
of Minerva ; but he had gathered material for many a weird and 
tragic tale. On his return he placed in Mr. Dallas's hands Hints 
from Horace. This poem did not please Mr. Dallas, and he asked 
Byron if he had no other result of his travels ; and the reply was, 
"A few short pieces and a lot of Spenserian stanzas, not worth 
troubling you with, but you are welcome to them." On looking 
these over, he wrote to Byron, " You have written one of the most 
delightful poems I ever read," He took the risk of publication at 
the hands of Murray. On the 27th of February, 1812, Byron made 
his first speech in the House of Lords in behalf of the wage-earners 
of Nottingham. Two days later the first two cantos of Childe 
Harold were published. The first copy was sent to his sister 
Augusta, Mrs. Leigh, with the inscription: "To Augusta, my 
dearest sister and my best friend, who has ever loved me much 



CANTO FIRST 183 

better than I deserved, this vohime is presented by her father's 
son and most affectionate brother B." Tluis it was the world 
came by Childe Harold. 

The title-page presented the following motto from Le Cosmo- 
polite ou le Citoyen du 3Ionde, F. de Monbron : "L'univers est 
une esp^ce de livre, dont on n'a lu que la premiere page quand on 
n'a vu que sur page. J'en ai feuillet^ un assez grand nombre, que 
j'ai trouv^ ^galement mauvaises. Get examen ne m'a point ^16 
infructeux. Je haissais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des 
peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai v^cu, n'ont r^concili^ avec elle. 
Quand je n'auvais tir^ d'autre b^n^fice de mon voyages que celui-lk, 
je n'en regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues." 

DEDICATION 

This dedication to Lady Charlotte Harley, second daughter of 
the Earl of Oxford, was not in the first edition, but was written in 
the autumn of 1812. She was then only eleven years of age, and 
Byron twenty-four. He was so impressed with her beauty that 
he had her portrait painted by Westall for Childe Harold. 

I. 19. Peri. Persian for fairy. 

1.28. wild as the Gazelle's. CI. Giaour : — 

" Her eye's dark charm 't were vain to tell, 
But gaze on that of the Gazelle, 
It will assist thy fancy well." 

CANTO FIRST 

II. 1-0. Cf. Milton, Paradise Lost, I., 1-26, and Wordsworth 
in liecluse, " On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life," etc. 

1. 4. sacred hill. Parnassus, the abode of the Muses. Cf. 
Tennyson, Parnassus. 

1. 5. vaunted rill. " We were sprinkled," says Hobhouse, 
"with the spray of the immortal rill." 

1. 6. shrine. The temple of Apollo. The village of Castri stands 
partly on the site of the old temple, 



184 NOTES 

11. 14-18. Ah me, etc. These lines and those of the following 
ten stanzas have doubtless deterred many from reading the poem. 
There is in them something of the Doji Juan, that spirit of melo- 
drama and affectation which is distinctly Byronic. They should 
be read as what Byron wished some people to think he was, rather 
than as actual history. No poet was ever more careless of gaining 
the fit audience than he. He said, " I hate motives ; " and there is 
here something of a motiveless malignity which would shock those 
mortals afflicted with the disease which Dean Hole called piosity, 
as distinguished from piety. 

There is no doubt that the life at Newstead with his college 
friends was somewhat hilarious, but by no means that of vulgar 
debauchery. In the preface to the poem, p. xxvi, Byron protests 
against being taken literally, and yet it is true that no poem is 
more at heart autobiographical. 

11. 19-25. Childe Harold was he hight, etc. In first drafts 
Byron wrote Childe Burun. "The childe is a young Englishman 
of the opening years of the present century, who has the distinction 
of being the prey to consuming ardors, and is touched by the mel- 
ancholy which accompanies unsatisfied aspirations." — E. Dowden. 
Byron adopts the Spenserian stanza, which is natural ; but he 
affects Spenser's language in the early stanzas, which is unnatural. 
However, he soon drops the latter to the advantage of his art. 
hight. Called. 
1.23. losel. Spendthrift. 

11. 26-27. Nor florid prose, etc. Cf. Cowper, The Task, VI., 
989-995 : — 

"Aware that what is base 
No polish can make sterlhig, and that vice, 
Though well perfumed and elegantly dressed, 
Like an unburied carcase tricked with flowers, 
Is but a garnished nuisance, fitter far 
For cleanly riddance than for fair attire." 

In The Prayer of Nature, Byron wrote : — 

'* Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? 
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?" 



CANTO FIRST 185 

Cf. Wordswortli, Prelude, for a contrast in the life of anotlier 
young Englishman of the closing years of last century : — 

" Fair seedtime had my soul, and I grew up, 
Fostered alike by beauty and by fear. 
Much favored in my birthplace." 

11. 28-31. basked him, etc. Cf. Cowper, The Task, VI., 589- 
592 : — 

" The springtime of our years 
Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most 
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 
To check them." 

I. 34. He felt the fulness of satiety. " Byron knew not mod- 
eration or self-restraint, . . . thus came satiety and remorse." — 
RoDEN Noel. 

"It is, indeed, Byron's great capacity for enjoyment that gives 
Childe Harold its real interest." — E. Dowden. 

II. 39-45. loved but one, etc. Byron's love, like that of Burns, 
began early, and was intense. At the age of eight he fell in love 
with a Scotch girl, Mary Duff, of Aberdeen. He says, "My love 
for that girl was so violent that I sometimes doubt if I have ever 
been really attached since." Ruskin, in alluding to her when she 
was Mrs. Cockburn, says : " She had been Lord Byron's first of first 
loves. She was the Mary Duff of Lachin-y-Gair. When I first 
remember her, still extremely beautiful in middle age." — Prae- 
terila, Chap. V. While at Harrow, Byron met Mary Chaworth, 
the heiress of the family whose estates at Annesley joined those of 
Newstead. He loved her passionately, and during vacation saw 
much of her. His hopes of winning her were dashed, however, 
when he overheard her say, " Do you think I could care for that 
lame boy?" She was the "one" alluded to in this line. He 
afterward wrote several poems to her, although she had married ; 
and they reveal what a shock he had received. Cf. Stanzas to a 
Lady on Leaving England : — 

" And I must from this land be gone, 
Because I cannot love hut one." 



186 NOTES 

Verses to Mary : — 

" When late I saw thy favorite child, 

I thought my jealous heart would break. 
But when the unconscious infant smiled, 
I kissed it for its mother's sake." 

To a Lady : — 

" Oh, had my, fate been join'd with thine, 
As once this pledge appear'd a token, 
These follies had not then been mine. 
For then my peace had not been broken." 

In The Dream, written soon after his marriage M'ith Miss Mil- 
banke, he reveals what a tragedy his life had become. He thus 
alludes to his marriage : — 

" The Wanderer was return'd, — I saw him stand 
Before an Altar — with a gentle bride ; 
Her face was fair, but was not that which made 
The Starlight of his Boyhood." 

There is no doubt that one of the greatest influences in Byron's 
life was this attachment for Mary Chaworth. 

11. 46-49. sore sick at heart, etc. 

" Weary of love, of life, devour 'd with spleen, 
I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen." 

" I know thee for a man of many thoughts. 
And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both. 
Fatal and fated in thy sufferings." — Manfred. 

11. 56-59. a vast and venerable pile, etc. Cf. On Leaving 
Newstead Abbey : — 

" Of the mail-cover'd Barons who proudly to battle 
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain. 
The Escutcheon and Shield, which with every blast rattle 
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain." 

Elegy in Newstead Abbey : — 

" Newstead! what saddening change of scene is thine! 
Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay ! ' ' 



4 



CANTO FIRST 187 

I. 61. Paphian girls. Followers of Venus, the goddess of 
Paphos. 

II. 64-67. in his maddest mirthful mood, etc. Once, when 
another student was to occupy Byron's room in Trinity, Jones 
(the gyp) said, "I recommend to your attention not to damage 
any of the moveables, for Lord Byron, sir, is a young man of 
tumultuous j^cissiojis.'''' 

11. 75-76. He knew them flatt'rers, etc. While this must not 
be construed to mean that the friends at Newstead were insincere, 
— he had ordered their portraits painted for himself, — yet it does 
reveal his loneliness even when surrounded by these associates. 
Mrs. Oliphant says: ."There seems to have been absolutely no 
reason for his entire isolation ; and yet it existed. ... It is 
impossible to imagine a more forlorn figure than that of this 
noble, handsome, gifted young man, knowing nobody, caring for 
nobody." 

1. 77. lemans. Mistresses. 

I. 79. Cupid finds a companion. 

II. 82-83. had a mother, etc. Wordsworth has said, "The 
child is father of the man ; " and Barrie, " It doesn't matter much 
what happens to one after he is twelve." To what extent the 
mother moulds the character of the child is well known, and we 
cannot but feel that Byron was most unfortunate in maternal 
relations. Contrast the early home influences of Milton, Words- 
worth, and Tennyson with that of Byron. Cf. Milton, Paradise 
Lost, VIII. , 546-559: — 

" Yet when I approach 
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems 
And in herself complete, so well to know 
Her own, that what she wills to do or say 
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. 
All higher knowledge in her presence falls 
Degraded ; Wisdoni in discourse with her 
Loses discountenanced, and like Folly shows; 
Authority and Reason on her wait, 
As one intended first, not after made 



188 NOTES 

Occasionally; and to consummate all, 
Greatness of mind and nobleness their seats 
Build in her loveliest, and create an army 
About her, as a guard angelic, placed." 

Cf. Wordsworth, Prelude, V., 266-293 : — 

" She, not falsely taught, 
Fetching her goodness rather from times past. 
Than shaping novelties for times to come, 
Had no presumption. 

Not from faculties more strong 
Than others have, but from the times, perhaps, 
And spot in which she lived, and through a grace 
Of modest meekness, simple-mindedness, 
A heart that found benignity and hope, 
Being itself benign." 

Cf. Tennyson, The Princess, VII., 292-312 : — 

" ' Alone,' I said, ' from earlier than I know. 
Immersed in rich foreshadowings of the world, 
I loved the woman : he, that doth not, lives 
A drowning life, besotted in sweet self. 
Or pines in sad experience worse than death. 
Or keeps his wing'd affections dipt with crime: 
Yet was there one thro' whom I loved her, one 
Not learned, save in gracious household ways. 
Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants. 
No Angel, but a dearer being, all dipt 
In Angel instincts, breathing Paradise, 
Interpreter between the Gods and men, 
Who look'd all native to her place, and yet 
On tiptoe seem'd to touch upon a sphere 
Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce 
Sway'd to her from their orbits as they moved. 
And girdled her with music. Happy he 
With such a mother! faith in womankind 
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high 
Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall 
He shall not blind his soul with clay.' " 



CANTO FIRST 189 

1. 84. A sister whom he loved. The most constant and most 
helpful of all Byron's friends was his sister, Augusta ; he loved 
her in tlie highest and noblest sense, and praised her in passionate 
verse. Cf. Stanzas to Augusta : — 

" When fortune changed and love fled far, 
And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, 
Thou wert the solitary star 
Which rose and set not to the last." 

In a second poem under the same title as the above, he says : — 

" In the desert a fountain is springing. 
In the wide waste there still is a tree. 
And a bird in the solitude singing 
Which speaks to my spirit of thee." 

Cf . Epistle to Augusta ; — 

" Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim 
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine ; 
Go where I will, to me thou art the same — 
A loved regret which I would not resign. 
There yet are two things in my destiny — 
A world to roam through, and a home with thee." 

1. 98. Without a sigh he left. Contrast Cowper's feeling in The 
Task, II., 206 etal.: — 

" England, with all thy faults, I love thee still, 
My country! and, while yet a nook is left 
Where English minds and manners may be found. 
Shall be constrained to love thee. . . . 

And I can feel 
Thy follies, too, and with a just disdain 
Frown at effeminates, whose very looks 
Reflect dishonour on the land I love." 



Cf. Wordsworth 



I travelled among unknown men, 
In lands beyond the sea ; 

Nor, England ! did I know till then 
What love I bore to thee." 



190 NOTES 

I. 99. Paynim. Pagan. 

II. 106-108. nor from his lips, etc. Cf. Burns's Farewell to the 
Banks of Ayr for contrasted feelings : — 

" But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; 
These bleed afresh, these ties I tear, 
To leave the bounie banks of Ayr." 

I. 114. And tuned his farewell. Cf. The Corsair, I., 1-4: — 

*' O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, 
Our thoughts as boundless, and our hearts as free, 
Far as the breeze can bear the billows' foam, 
Survey our Empire and behold our home." 

II. 118-125. Adieu, etc. Byron says in his Preface, p. xxvii, 
that this song was suggested by " Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in 
Scott's Border Minstrelsy. It begins as follows : — 

" Adieu, madame, my mother dear. 

But and my sisters three ! 
Adieu, fair Robert of Orchardstane ! 

My heart is wae for thee. 
Adieu, the lily and tlie rose. 

The primrose fair to see ! 
Adieu, my lady, and only joy! 

For I may not stay with thee." 

1. 133. My dog howls at the gate. On the death of his pet dog, 
Boatswain, he wrote the following — part of an inscription — on the 
monument which he placed in the garden at Newstead : — 

" To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ; 
I never knew but one, — and here he lies." 

Cf. Arnold, Geist''s Grave and Kaiser Dead. 

1. 134. my little page. This was Robert Rushton, the son of 
one of Byron's tenants. He was so homesick that on reaching 
Gibraltar Byron sent him back to England under charge of his old 
servant, Joe Murray. Byron loved the boy and once said to his 
mother, "I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless 



CANTO FIRST 191 

animal." Originally Byron introduced the page and yeoman as 
follows : — 

** And of his train there was a henchman page, 
A peasant boy, who served his master well ; 
And often would his pranksome prate engage 
Childe Harold's ear, when his proud heart did swell 
"With sable thoughts that he disdained to tell. 
Then would he smile on him, and Alwin smiled, 
When aught that from his young lips archly fell 
The gloomy film from Harold's eye beguiled. 

And pleased for a glimpse appeared the woful Childe. 

" Him and one yeoman only did he take 

To travel eastward to a far countrie ; 

And though the boy was grieved to leave the lake 

On whose fair banks he grew from infancy, 

Eftsoons his little heart beat merrily 

With hope of foreign nations to behold, 

And many things right marvellous to see, 

Of which our vaunting voyagers oft have told 
In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old." 

1. 157. In the Ms. following this line is the stanza : — 
" My motber is a high-born dame, 
And much misliketh me ; 
She saitli my riot bringeth shame 

On all my ancestry : 
I had a sister once, I ween, 

Whose tears perhaps will flow ; 
But her fair face I have not seen 
For three long years or moe." 

1. 158. yeoman. William Fletcher, the poet's valet, followed 
him in all his wanderings, was with him when he died at Mis- 
solonghi, and accompanied his remains to England. 

1. 160. French foeman. England was at war with France at 
the time. 

1. 1G7. the bordering lake. Cf. Epistle to Augusta : — 
** I did remind thee of our own dear Lake 
By the old Hall wbich may be mine no more." 



192 JVOTES 

Cf. Don Juan^ XIII., stanza 57 : — 

" Before tlie mansion lay a lucid lake, 

Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed 

By a river, which its softened way did take 
In cnrrents thron<;h the calmer water spread 

Around : tlie wihl fowl nestled in the brake 
And sedf^cs, brooding in their liquid bed ; 

The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stood 

With their green faces fixed upon the flood." 

U. 170-177. These lines in Ms. were : — 

" Enough, enough, my yeoman good, 
All this is well to say ; 
But, if 1 in thy sandals stood, 
I'd laugh to get away. 

" Foi- who would trust a paramour. 
Or e'en a wedded fere, 
Though her blue eyes were streaming o'er. 
And torn her yellow hair?" 

The following was suppressed between stanzas ix and x : — 

" Methinks it would my bosom glad 

To change my proud estate. 
And bo again a laughing lad 

With one beloved playmate. 
Since youth I scarce have passed an hour 

Witlumt disgust or pain. 
Except sometimes in lady's bower, 

Or when the bowl I drain." 

11. 190-101. With thee, my bark, etc. Alluding to the wild 
spirit in Byron, Taine says, "This relish of danger and craving 
for strife urged forward the Scandinavian Berserkirs, when in an 
open bark, under a sky cloven with lightning, they launched out 
upon the tempest whose fury they had breathed." 

1. 203. Tagus. Tradition called the river Aurifer, gold-bearing. 

1. 205. Lusian. Portuguese. Lusitania is the classical name 
for Portugal. 



CANTO FIRST 19,3 

1. 207. Oh, Christ ! etc. Cf. Coleridge, Ancient Mariner, 123 : — 

"O Christ! 
That ever this should be! " 

Cf. Tennyson, Maud : — 

" Ah Christ, that it were possible 
For one short hour to see 
Tlie souls we loved," etc. 

1. 215. Gaul's locust host. French under Napoleon invaded 
Portugal in the fall of 1807. 

1. 216. Dallas says : " The beautiful stanzas from xvi to xxx are 
the exact echoes of the thoughts which occurred to Byron's mind 
as he went over the spot described." Lisboa. Lisbon. 

1. 220. since Albion was allied. In the summer of 1808 Wel- 
lington went to Portugal, and defeated the French. He was 
recalled ; and his successor, Dalrymple, made a humiliating agree- 
ment by which the French general could evacuate Portugal, at a 
time when his army was almost annihilated, and his troops be 
conveyed in British vessels. This was known as the " Convention 
of Cintra." Wellington was again appointed to conunand, and 
drove the French out of Portugal in 1809, the year of Byron's visit. 

Wordsworth was so indignant at this agreement that in May, 
1809, he wrote his famous tract on The Convention of Cintra, 
Prose Works, Vol. I.: "This ought to have been first, both in 
order and importance : the French were to be subdued, their fero- 
cious warfare and heinous policy to be confounded ; and in this 
vi^ay and no other was the deliverance of that country [Portugal] 
to be accomplished." 

1. 233. shent. Disgraced. 

1. 23C. Cintra's glorious Eden. In a letter to his mother Byron 
says: "To make amends for the fllthiness of Lisbon and its still 
filthier inhabitants, the village of Cintra, about fifteen miles from 
the capital, is, perhaps, in every respect, the most delightful in 
Europe ; it contains beauties of every description, natural and 
artificial. Palaces and gardens rising in the midst of rocks, cata- 
o 



194 NOTES 

racts, and precipices ; convents on stupendous heights ; a distant 
view of the sea and the Tagus. ' ' 

1. 241. the bard. Dante. The reference is to the Paradiso. 

1. 255. Our Lady ... of woe. Nossa Senora de pena. Byron 
misread the last word as peiia., pain. Pena, with the mark over 
the w, means a stone. Honorius, a mediaeval saint, practised 
austerities there ; and Byron, when he found out his error, de- 
clined to correct it, saying, '"I may well assume the other sense, 
from the severity practised." — Keene. 

1. 259. yon cave. "Cork Convent, where Honorius dug his 
den, over which is his epitaph." — Byron. 

I. 276. Vathek. William Beckford, author of the romance 
VatheJc, resided, in Cintra for two years. 

II. 277-278. When wanton Wealth, etc. The Ms. has — 

" When Wealth and Taste their worst and best have done, 
Meek Peace pollution's lure voluptuous still must shun." 

11. 285-287. Fresh lessons, etc. For a similar picture of the 
blighting effect of despotism on man and nature, see Landor, 
Hellenics : — 

" We are what suns and winds and waters make us ; 
The mountains are our sponsors, and the rills 
Fashion and win their nursling with their smiles. 
But where the land is dim with tyranny, 
Their tiny pleasures take the place 
Of glories and of duties; as the feet 
Of fabled faeries when the sun goes down 
Trip o'er the grass where wrestlers strove to play." 

I. 288. the hall. " The Convention of Cintra was signed in the 
palace of the Marchese Mariavala." — Byron. The negotiations 
were carried on thirty miles from Cintra, but were finally ratified 
here. Cf. 1. 298. 

II. 290-296. a . . . fiend, etc. The Spirit of Diplomacy. 

1. 296. Urchin. Elf. Here for the spirit of protest in the people. 



CANTO FIRST 195 

After this stanza the Ms. had the following : — 

" In golden characters rijjht well designed, 

First on the list appeareth one ' Junot ; ' 

Then certain other glorious names we find, 

Which rhyme compelleth me to place helow : 

Dull victors! haftied hy a vanquished foe, 

Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due, 

Stand, worthy of each other, in a row — 

Sir Arthur, Harry, and the dizzard Hew 
Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dupe of tother tew." 

11. 297-305. Convention, etc. This stanza (xxv) reveals some- 
thing of the scorn of the people at the action of the English com- 
mander Dalrymple. It is somewhat oratorical, as Byron often is. 
Byron says, " My qualities were much more oratorical and mar- 
tial than poetical ; no one had the least notion that I should 
subside into poesy." 

1. 301. Here Folly, etc. Instead of the remainder of this stanza, 
the Ms. reading was as follows : — 

" For well I wot, when lirst the news did come 

That Vimiera's field hy (laul was lost, 

For paragraph ne i)aper scarce had room. 

Such pieans teemeil for our triumphant host 
In Courier, Chronicle, and eke in Morning Post. 

" But when Convention sent his handy-work, 

Pens, tongues, feet, hands, c()nd)iiied in wild uproar; 

Mayor, aldermen, laid down the uplifted fork ; 

The liench of Bishops half forgot to snore ; 

Stern Cobbctt, who for one whole week forehore 

To question aught, once more with transport leapt. 

And bit his devilish quill agen, and swore 

With foe such treaty never should be kept, 
Then burst the blatant beast, and roared, and raged, and — slept 1 

"Thus unto Heaven appealed the jieople: Heaven, 
Which loves the lieges of our gracious king. 
Decreed that, ere our generals were forgiven, 
Inquiry should be held about the thing. 



196 NOTES 

But Mercy cloaked the babes beneath her wing ; 
And as they spared our babes, so spared we them; 
(Where was the pity of our sires for Byng?) 
Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn ; 
Then live, ye gallant knights! and bless your Judges' phlegm." 

1.314. Where Scorn, etc. When the matter was investigated by 
the English government, Dalrymple was censured by King George 
III. and superseded by another. " Our offences are unexpiated ; 
and wanting light, we want strength." — Wordsworth, Conven- 
tion of Cintra. 

1. 323. But as he gazed, etc. "If Byron was struck hard by 
events, — events in the material or ideal sphere, — there came a 
resonant response ; his strangely discordant powers were for the 
moment fused, and he uttered his feelings with incomparable 
energy and directness." — E. Dowden, 

1. 324. To horse ! Byron rode from Lisbon to Seville. He 
says: "The horses are excellent; we rode seventy miles a day." 

1. 333. Yet Mafra. Byron was entertained at one of the con- 
vents here, and the monks asked him if there were any books in 
England. 

1. 334. Lusians' luckless queen. At Mafra, about ten miles 
from Cintra, was the palace- where Maria Francesca became 
insane, and at the time of the French invasion she was taken to 
Brazil. 

1. 338. Babylonian whore. The Catholic Church. 

I. 340. That men forget, etc. Cf. Milton, On the Late 3Iassacre 
in Piedmont. 

II. 349-350. there is sweetness, etc. Cf. Cowper, The Task, 
VI., 84-86 : — 

" Meditation here 
May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 
May give a useful lesson to the head." 



CANTO FIRST 197 

Cf. Wordsworth, Excursion, 1 : — 

" There littleness was not ; the least of things 
Seem'd infinite ; and there his spirit shaped 
Her prospects, nor did he believe, he saw. 
What wonder if his being thus became 
Sublime and comprehensive! " 

1. 358. For Spain is compassed, etc. Wellington had been 
checked, and Napoleon had made his brother Joseph king of Spain, 
Cf. Wordsworth, Indignation of a High-Minded Spaniard : — 

" We can endure that he should waste our lands, 
Despoil our temples, and by sword and flame 
Return us to the dust from which we came ; 
Such food a Tyrant's appetite demands : 
And we can brook the thought that by his hands 
Spain may be overpowered, and he possess. 
For his delight, a solemn wilderness 
Where all the brave lie dead. But, when of bands 
Which he will break for us he dares to speak, 
Of benefits, and of a future day 
When our enlightened minds shall bless his sway ; 
Then, the strained heart of fortitude proves weak : 
Our groans, our blushes, our pale cheeks declare 
That he has power to inflict what we lack strength to bear." 

1. 360. Lusitania . . . Sister. Portugal and Spain. 

1. 363. Tayo. The Tagus. 

1. 369. silver streamlet A branch of the Guadiana, which 
flows between the two kingdoms. 

1. 377. Lusian slave. The Spaniards looked down upon the 
Portuguese. 

1. 378. But ere, etc. The Ms. has — 

" But ere the bonds of Spain have far been passed, 
Forever famed in many a Sacred song." 

1. 385. The Paynim turban, etc. Alluding to wars of Moors and 
Christians in the Middle Ages. 



198 WOTES 

1. 388. Pelagio. Pelago, king of northern Spain. He defeated 
the Moors. 

1. 389. traitor-sire. Count Julian, who, to avenge the indignity 
done his daughter Cava, by King Roderick, invited the Moors to 
invade Spain. 

1. 390. Gothic gore. The Goths then ruled in Spain. 

I. 394. Red gleamed, etc. The red cross was the standard of 
the Christians. Cf. Spenser, Faerie Queene, I., 2, 1 : — 

" And on his breast a bloudie crosse he bore, 
The dears remembrauce of his dying Lord." 

1. 399. A peasant's plaint, etc. A simple, mournful ballad 
keeps the memory of his deeds alive. 

II. 409-410. smoke of blazing bolts, etc. Contrasted with the 
old methods of warfare. Cf. Milton, Paradise Lost, VI., 610. 
Alluding to their victory, due to the invention of guns and gun- 
powder, Satan says : — 

" To entertain them fair with open front 
And breast (what could we more ?) propounded terms 
Of composition," etc. 

and again : — 

" The terms we sent were terms of weight 
Of hard contents and full of force urged home 
Such as we might perceive amused them all 
And stumbled many," etc. 

1. 413. When her war-song, etc. Alluding to the wars with the 
Moors. 

1. 419. from rock to rock. The Ms. gives : — 
" from rock to rock 
Blue columns soar aloft in sulphurous wreath, 
Fragments on fragments in confusion knock," etc. 

1. 430. this morn, etc. The battle of Talavera, July 20th, 1809, 
lasted three days, in which Wellington and the Spaniards stood 
asainst the French. Cf. 1. 448. 



CANTO FIRST 199 

11. 459-467. Oh, Albuera, etc. This stanza was written after 
Byron's return to England. In this battle the English and Spanish 
routed the French who were going to the relief of their comrades 
whom Wellington was besieging in Badajos. 

1. 480. Soon, etc. The French entered Seville in February, 
1810, after Byron was there. 

1. 499. star. Venus, the star of love. 

I. 500. Fandango. A Spanish dance. 

II. 502-503. Not in the toils, etc. Cf. Wordsworth, Sonnet on 
Buonaparte : — 

" 'Tis not in battles that from youth we train 
The Governor who must be wise and good." 

1. 508. ' Viva el Rey ! ' Long live the king, Ferdinand. 

1. 509. Godoy. Prime minister of Charles IV. Cf. 1. 510. 

I. 523. badge. The red cockade of the naturalist party. 

II. 531-539. This stanza shows Wellington's defences on the 
mountain Sierra Morena in south of Spain to check French advance. 

1. 540. deeds to come. In the spring of 1811 Wellington ad- 
vanced from his position and drove the French out of Portugal. 
Cf. Tennyson's Ode on the death of the Duke of Wellington. Pro- 
fessor Dowden says of Childe Harold, "As we read the poem we 
assist at the rise and fall of empires, in the court, the camp, the 
council-chamber. ' ' 

1. 550. bloated Chief. Cf.AVordsworth, Sonnet on Buonaparte: — 

" The tenderest mood 
Of that man's mind, — what can it be ? what food 
Fed his first hopes ? " 

1. 558. Spanish maid. Augustina, who when her lover was killed 
at Saragossa worked the gun in his place. Byron saw her on the 
Prado, wearing her decorations. Cf. Wordsworth, sonnet. 

" Hail Zaragosa ! If with unwet eye 
We can approach, thy sorrow to behold, 



200 NOTES 

Yet is the heart not pitiless nor cold ; , 
Such spectacle demands not tear or sigh. 
These desolate remains are troi)hies high 
Of more than martial courage in the breast 
Of peaceful civic virtue ; they attest 
Thy matchless worth to all posterity." 

1. 674. Gorgon face. That terrifies the beholder so that he 
turns to stone. 

1. 576. Her lover sinks. Cf. Wordsworth, Vaudracour and 
Julia. 

1. 592. Remoter females. English women ? 

1. 612. Oh, thou Parnassus ! These stanzas were written at 
Castri, at the foot of Parnassus. 

1. 638. melodious wave. Cf. 1. 5, note. 

1. 646. deathless plant. The bay laurel into which Daphne 
was transformed when pursued by Apollo. Cf. Wordsworth, 
Eussiau Fugitive, Part III. 

1. 658. site of ancient days. "Seville was the Hispalis of the 
Romans." — Byron. 

1. 666. Paphos. In the island of Cyprus, sacred to Venus. 

1. 669. native sea. Legend says Venus sprang from the sea. 

1. 693. seventh day. Rather the first day. 

1. 699. Suburban towns. Byron was educated at Harrow. 

1. 704. Richmond-hill. On the Thames, nine miles from Lon- 
don. Ware is twenty miles north of London. 

1. 705. steep of Highgate. Highgate hill, near Hampstead, 
opposite Brentford. 

1. 706. Boeotian shades. This was written at Thebes. 

1. 707. worship of the solemn Horn. Alluding to the old 
custom at the inns of Highgate of taking a burlesque oath upon 
a pair of horns never to kiss the maid when one could the mistress, 
never to eat brown bread when one could get white, etc. 



CANTO FIRST 201 

1. 720-782. The lists are oped, etc. Tins description is a 
splendid illustration of Raskin's ''Imagination Associative," 3Iod- 
ern Painters, Vol. II., part iii. 

I. 739. Matadore. The skilled bull-fighter. 

II. 814-818. And lately, etc. For contrast see Coleridge, 
Love : — 

** All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are hut ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame." 



TO INEZ 

This song vs^as written at Athens in January, 1810. Its sentiment 
is a striking contrast to that in the previous farewell song, and we 
cannot feel that Byron is posing ; the misery is genuine. The Inez 
of the song is not known. 

In place of this song the first draught had seven stanzas, of which 
the following is a sample : — 

" O never talk again to me 

Of northern climes and British ladies ! 
It has not been your lot to see, 

Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. 
Although her eyes he not of bhie. 

Nor fair her locks, like English lasses; 
How far its own expressive hues 

The languid azure eye surpasses." 

11. 845-848. It is not love, etc. Cf . Giaour : — 

" My days though few have passed below 
In much of joy but more of woe ; 
Yet still in hours of love or strife, 
I've 'scaped the weariness of life ; 
Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes, 
I loathed the languor of repose." 



202 NOTES 

11. 858-860. To zones, etc. Ms. has — 

" To other zones, howe'er remote, 
Still, still pursuing clings to me 
The blight of life — the demon Thought." 

1. 879. A traitor. Solano, governor of Cadiz, when in May, 
1808, he was ordered to attack the French squadron in the harbor, 
refused, and was killed by the people. 

1. 884. Kingless people. Napoleon deposed Ferdinand VII. and 
put his brother Joseph on the throne. 

1. 899. In the Ms. this canto was followed by these stanzas : — 

" Ye who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, 

Sights, Saints, Antiques, Arts, Anecdotes, and War, 

Go, hie ye hence to Paternoster Rowi — 

Are they not written in the book of Carr, 2 

Green Erin's knight and Europe's wandering star? 

Then listen, readers, to the Man of Ink, 

Hear what he did, and sought, and wrote afar ; 

All these are cooped within one quarto's brink, 
This borrow, steal, — don't buy, — and tell us what you think. 

" There may you read, with spectacles on eyes, 

How many Wellesleys did embark for Spain, 

As if they therein meant to colonize. 

How many troops y-crossed the laughing main 

That ne'er beheld the same return again: 

How many buildings are in such a place, 

How many leagues from this to yonder plain, 

How many relics each cathedral grace. 
And where Giralda stands on her gigantic base.^ 

" There you may read (O Phoebus, save Sir John, 
That these my words prophetic may not err!) 
All that was said, or sung, or lost, or won. 
By vaunting Wellesley or by blundering Frere, 

1 A booksellers' street in London. 

2 Sir John Carr, author of Descriptive Travels in Spain, etc. 

3 The Giralda is the Moorish tower of the cathedral at Seville. It is surmounted 
by a female tigure in bronze, 



CANTO FIRST 203 

He that wrote half the * Needy Knife-Grinder.* i 

Thus poesy the way to grandeur paves, — 

Who would not such diplomatists prefer? 

But cease, my Muse, thy speed some respite craves, 
Leave legates to their house and armies to their graves. 
" Yet here of Vulpes^ mention may be made, 

Who for the Junta modelled sapient laws. 

Taught them to govern ere they were obeyed : 

Certes, fit teacher to command, because 

His soul Socratic no Xantippe awes ; 

Blest with a dame in Virtue's bosom nurst, — 

With her let silent admiration pause ! 

True to her second husband and her first : 
On such mistaken fame let Satire do her worst ! " 

1. 915. Columbia's ease. Napoleon's tyranny in Spain resulted 
in the independence of the Spanish colonies in America. 

I. 916. wrongs. During tlie Spanish conquest under Pizarro. 

II. 918-921. Talavera. Cf. 430, note. 

1. 919. marvels of Barossa's fight. In the battle fought near 
Cadiz in 1811 the English fought gallantly. 

1. 920. Albuera. Cf. 459, note. 

1. 927. my friend. Hon. John Wingfield of the Coldstream 
Guards, who died at Coimbra, Portugal, May 14, 1811. Byron 
says : "I had known him ten years, the better half of his life, and 
the happiest part of mine. In the short space of one month I had 
lost her who gave me being, and most of those who had made that 
being tolerable. To me the lines of Young are no fiction : — 
' Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? 
Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain 
And thrice ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.' 

I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the late Charles 
Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were 

1 Written by Canning and Frere. 

2 Vulpes refers to Fox, Loi-d Holland. Lady Holland had been the wife of Sir 
Godfrey Webster, who had obtained a divorce from her because of her intimacy 
with Fox. 



204 NOTES 

he not too much above all praise of mine." Matthews was drowned 
while bathing in the Cam, Aug. 2, 1811. This stanza and the next 
were added in that month. 



CANTO SECOND 

This canto, begun at Janina, was completed at Smyrna, March 
28, 1809. 

1. 1. blue-eyed maid. Athena. The Homeric epithet is 7\au- 
/cwTTts, bright-eyed. 

1. 2. Didst never yet, etc. Why does Byron deny Athena 
inspiration of poets ? Cf . Tennyson, The Poet : — 

*' No sword of wrath her right arm wliirl'd, 
But one poor poet's scroll, and with his words 
She shook the world." 

1. 3. thy temple. The Parthenon. 

1. 4. war and wasting fire. Part of the Acropolis was de- 
stroyed by the cannon of the Venetians, 1687. 

I. 7. dominion dire. Of the Mussulmans, who held possession 
at the time Byron wrote. 

II. 10-18. Ancient of days, etc. Byron had his first glimpse of 
Athens on Christmas, 1809, and wrote these famous lines. One of 
the wisest of modern tributes to the mind and art of Greece is Pro- 
fessor Butcher's Some Aspects of Greek Genius. Matthew Arnold, 
in Culture and Anarchy, chapter iv., says, "As the great move- 
ment of Christianity was a triumph of Hebraism and man's moral 
impulses, so the great movement which goes by the name of the 
Renaiscence was an uprising and reinstatement of man's intel- 
lectual impulses and of Hellenism." 

1. 19. Son of the morning. There is some doubt as to what the 
poet referred to here. It seems addressed to the Oriental who was 
then the possessor of the sacred land. 

1. 21. a nation's sepulchre. The poet is standing among the 
ruins of the temple of Zeus. 



CANTO SECOND 205 

1. 32. Thou know'st not, etc. Wordsworth, alluding to the 
materialism of modern life, says : — 

" Great God ! I'd rather be 
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimiDses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn." 

1. 37. Or burst, etc. This should be connected with line 20. 
The Hero may be Ajax, buried iii Troas. Byron says, "It was 
not always the custom of the Greeks to burn their dead ; the 
greater Ajax in particular was interred entire." 

1. 46. Look on its broken arch, etc. This stanza should be 
compared with Hamlet's meditation on the skull of poor Yorick : — 

" Imperial Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away." 

1. 56. nothing can be known. This is hardly true of Socrates. 
Professor Jowett says, " He falls back on resignation to the divine 
will, and the certainty that no evil can happen to the good man 
either in life or death." Possibly Byron had in mind Socrates' 
reason why he was wiser than many others. He said, he knew 
nothing, and knew he knew nothing; while they knew nothing, 
and did not know that they knew nothing. 

I. m. Sadducee. Cf. Matt,, xxii. 23. 

II. 68-69. How sweet it were, etc. Cf. William Watson, Lach- 
rimoe Musarum, on the death of Tennyson : — 

" Rapt though he he from us, 
Virgil salutes him and Theocritus ; 
Catullus, mightiest brained Lucretius, each 
Greets him, their brother on the Stygian beach; 
Proudly a gaunt right hand doth Dante reach ; 
Milton and Wordsworth bid him welcome home ; 
Bright Keats to touch his raiment doth beseech ; 
Coleridge, his locks aspersed with fairy foam, 



206 NOTES 

Calm Spenser, Chaucer suave, 

His equal friendship crave ; 

And godlike spirits hail him guest, in speech 

Of Athens, Florence, Stratford, Weimar, Rome." 

1. 72. Bactrian, . . . Samian. Zoroaster and Pythagoras. In 
the place of this stanza the Ms. has : — 

" Frown not upon me, churlish priest, that I 
Look not for life where life may never he ; 
I am no sneerer at thy phantasy : 
Thou pitiest me — alas! I envy thee, 
Thou bold discoverer in an unknown sea 
Of happy isles and happier tenants there ; 
I ask thee not to prove a Sadducee ; 
Still dream of Paradise, thou knows't not where, 
But lov'st too well to bid thine erring brother share." 

1. 73. There, thou! etc. This stanza was written at Newstead 
after Byron's return. Long, Wingtield, Matthews, Eddlestone, 
and his mother had died within a period of four months. By 
many it is thonght to refer to his Cambridge friend Eddlestone, 
although Byron wrote to Dallas that it did not refer to any male 
friend. It may refer to the unknown woman Thyrza, in whose 
memory he wrote live poems. 

1. 78. Cf. Lines to Thyrza : — 

" For wert thou banished from my mind, 
Where could my vacant bosom turn ? " 

1.82. upon this massy stone. "The temple of Jupiter Olym- 
pius, of which sixteen columns entirely of marble yet remain." — 
Byron. 

1. 91. yon fane. The Parthenon. 

1. 04. dull spoiler. Lord Elgin, who removed many of the 
sculptures to the British Museum. Byron is unnecessarily severe 
upon the lord, for at that time these works of noble art were 
allowed to go unprotected. To his work in taking them to a place 
of safety the modern art of sculpture has been greatly indebted. 
Byron gives the pathetic incident in connection with the removal 



CANTO SECOND 207 

of the last of the metopes. When the work was completed a 
Greek workman who was assisting took his pipe from his mouth, 
and wiping away the tears, said "r^Xos ! " 

1. 95. Blush Caledonia. Lord Elgin was a Scotchman, but then 
Byron says of himself : — 

" But I am half a Scot by birth, and bred 
A whole one ; and my heart tlies to my head 
As ' Auld Lang Syne ' brings Scotland one and all, 
Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills and clear streams." 

Cf. The Curse of Minerva: — 

"Frown not on England; England owns him not, 
Athena, no! thy plunderer was a Scot. 
Ask'st thou the difference? From lair Phjde's towers 
Survey Bujotia, — Caledonia ours." 

1. 90. long-reluctant brine. The ship which bore the treasures 
to England was delayed by storms. 

1. 100. After this stanza Ms. has — 

" Come then, ye classic Thanes of each degree, 

Dark Hamilton and sullen Aberdeen, i 

Come pilfer all the Pilgrim loves to see. 

All that j^et consecrates the fading scene : 

O, better were it ye had never been. 

Nor ye, nor Elgin, nor that baser wight. 

The victim sad of vase-collecting spleen. 

House-furnisher withal, one Thomas bight, 
Thau ye should bear one stone from wronged Athena's site ! 
" Or will the gentle Dilettanti crew 

Now delegate the task to digging Gell?2 — 

That mighty limner of a bird's-eye view ; 

How like to nature let his volumes tell : 

1 William Hamilton, the antiquary, whose collection of vases Is now in the 
British Museum ; Lord Aberdeen figures in the English Bards. Thomas, men- 
tioned below, was Thomas Hope, who wrote a work on furniture before he 
became better known as the author of Anasiasius, which some attributed to 
Byron. 

- Sir William Gell, the archaeologist. Cf. English Bards: " I leave topography 
to classic Gell." 



208 NOTES 

Who can with him the folio's limits swell 
With all the author saw, or said he saw? 
Who can topographize or delve so well ? 
No boaster he, nor impudent and raw. 
His pencil, pen, and shade, alike without a flaw." 

1. 118. Where was thine -ffigis, etc. "According to Zozimus, 
Minerva and Achilles frightened Alaric from the Acropolis ; but 
others relate that the Gothic king was nearly as mischievous as the 
Scottish peer." — Byron. 

Scott and Byron met in 1815. Scott says : " Like the old heroes 
in Homer we exchanged gifts ; I gave Byron a beautiful dagger 
mounted with gold, which had been the property of the redoubtable 
Elfi Bey. But I was to play the part of Diomed in the Iliad, for 
Byron sent me a large sepulchral vase of silver, full of dead men's 
bones, found within the land walls of Athens." 

I. 144. And left without a sigh, etc. When Byron was in Athens 
he lodged at the house of the English vice-consul, who had three 
daughters, the eldest of whom, Theresa, is immortalized as the 
Maid of Athens in Byron's famous song. Cf . 3Iaid of Athens : — 

" Athens holds my heart and soul ; 
Can I cease to love thee ? no ! 
ZwTj fxoO ads d7a7ru)." 

II. 170-171. Britons rarely swerve from law, etc. Cf. Tenny- 
son, Of old sat Freedom 07i the heights : — 

** That her fair form may stand and shine, 

Make bright our days and light our dreams, 
Turning to scorn with lips divine 
The falsehood of extremes." 

Cf . You ask me why, tho'' ill at ease : — 

" A land of settled government, 
A land of just and old renown. 
Where Freedom broadens down 
From precedent to precedent." 

1. 185. some rude Arion's restless hand. Alluding to the legend 
of the minstrel Arion who, when he was to be thrown into the sea 



CANTO SECOND 209 

by the sailors who wanted his property, sang his song so sweetly 
that the dolphins came and bore him to the shore. 

1. 190. Calpe's straits. Gibraltar. Calpe was the ancient name 
of the rock. 

1. 193. Hecate's blaze. The moon. 

. }' !f^- '^^® °^S^*' etc. Byron's meditative mood is character- 
istically by the pale moonlight. 

I. 201. The Ms. has: — 

" Bleeds the lone heart, once boundless in its zeal, 
And friendless now, yet dreams it had a friend.''' 

II. 203-216. Who, with the weight of years, etc. " The richest 
pages of Byron's work, from the date of The Curse of Minerva to 
that of the Isles of Greece, are brightened by lights and adorned bv 
allusions due to his training, imperfect as it was, on the slopes of 
Harrow." — John NicHOL. 

mi'- "" '^''^''''^ ""''"^ ""^ ^''^ Village and School of Harrow on the 

" Ye scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection 
Embitters the present compared with the past ; 
Where science first dawu'd on the powers of reflection 
And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last." ' 
Cf. Childish Becollections : ~ 

" Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view, 
To which I long have bade a last adieu ! 
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes, 
Friends lost to me for aye, except in dreams." 
Cf. Iivoiild I were a careless Child: — 

" I loved — but those I loved are gone ; 

Had friends — my early friends are fled ; 
How cheerless feels the heart alone 
When all its former hopes are dead." 
11. 217-225. To sit on rocks, etc. Some one has said that Byron 
imterpreted Wordsworth to the world. Wordsworth had defined 
poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feeling in lan- 
p 



210 NOTES 

guage direct from the heart." Such is the best work of Byron. 
In such iDassages as this we see how truly Byron was allied to 
Wordsworth in his love of nature. It is a distinct advance upon 
the aspects of nature in Canto I. Cf. Wordsworth, By the Side of 
Grasmere Lake : — 

" Clouds, lingering yet, extend in solid bars 
Through the gray west; and lo! these waters, steeled 
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield 
A vivid repetition of the stars ; 
Jove, Venus, and the ruddy crest of Mars 
Amid his fellows beauteously revealed 
At happy distance from earth's groaning field, 
Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars. 
Is it a mirror? — or the nether Sphere 
Opening to view the abyss in which she feeds. 
Her own calm fires ? But list ! a voice is near ; 
Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds, 
' Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds 
Ravage the world, tranquillity is here! ' " 

11. 229-232. With none who bless us, etc. Here Byron's lone- 
liness, the pathos of his life, reaches its highest manifestation. 

Hon. G. F. Hoar, in an address. Old Age and Immortality, says : 
"The greater penalty of growing old is the loss of the friends of 
youth ; . . . when the voices that were its music are silent it is well 
that the ear grow numb. When the faces which were their delight 
have vanished it is well that the eyes grow dim." 

1. 236. lonely Athos. The great centre and seat of raonasticism, 
much higher than the neighboring peaks, stood sentinel over the 
blue ^gean. Cf. Wordsworth, Prelude, IV., 354-364 : — 

*' When from our better selves we have too long 
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop 
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, 
How gracious, how benigu, is Solitude; 
How potent a mere image of her sway ; 
Most potent when impressed upon the mind 
With an appropriate human centre — hermit. 
Deep in the bosom of the wilderness ; 



CANTO SECOND 211 

Votary (in vast cathedral, where no foot 
Is treading, where no other face is seen) 
Kneeling at prayers." 
11. 253-260. Calypso's isles, etc. Goza. When Ulysses was 
stranded on the island of Calypso, she endeavored to allure him to 
become her husband. Cf. Homer, Odyssey, Book I. : — 

" Him alone, who pined to see his home 
And wife again. Calypso, queenly nymph, 
Great among goddesses, detained within 
Her spacious grot, in hope that he might yet 
Become her husband." 
Telemachus went in search of his father, and his tutor, Mentor, 
pushed him from the height into the sea, because he was afraid he 
would become fascinated of Calypso. She in turn retired to her 
cave and spent her life in lamentation. Cf. Telemaque, VI., by 
F^nelon. 

1. 266. Sweet Florence, etc. Byron remained at Malta for three 
weeks, during which time he developed a Platonic friendship for 
JMrs^_SjDencer Smith, the wife of the English minister to Constanti- 
nople. She was sister-in-law of the famous admiral and the heroine 
of several exciting adventures. She had been shipwrecked, and she 
had excited the vengeance of Napoleon, and Byron says : "Buona- 
parte is even now so incensed against her that her life would be in 
danger if she were taken prisoner." Cf. To Florence : — 
" Ah who would think that form had past 
Through Danger's most destructive path, 
Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast, 
And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath." 

Cf. Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm : — 
" Do thou, amid the fair white walls, 
If Cadiz yet be free. 
At times from out her latticed halls 

Look o'er the dark blue sea ; 
Then think upon Calypso's isles, 

Endear'd by days gone by ; 
To others give a thousand smiles. 
To me a single sigh." 



212 * NOTES 

11. 289-294. Little knew she, etc. Byron here assumes the tone 
of the early stanzas of Canto I. 

11. 309-311. When all is won, etc. The cynicism of the previous 
stanza is matched by the pessimism of these lines. Cf. Tennyson, 
Vastness : — 

" Pain, that hath crawl'd from the corpse of Pleasure, a worm which 
writhes all day, and at night 
Stirs up again in the heart of the sleeper, and stings him back to the 
curse of the light." 

For a contrast to Byron's pessimism here, cf. Tennyson's Wages: — 

" The wages of sin is death: if the wages of Virtue be dust. 

Would she have heart to endure for the life of the worm and the fly ? 

She desires no isles of the blest, no quiet seats of the just. 
To rest in a golden grove, or to bask in a summer sky ; 

Give her the wages of going on, aud not to die." 

11. 325-329. Dear Nature, etc. From the heat of passion Byron 
could turn to nature and find cooling shade. Cf. Wordsworth, 
Lines on Tintern Abbey : — 

" Nature never did betray 
The heart that loved her ; 'tis her privilege 
Through all the years of this our life, to lead 
From joy to joy." 

I. 334. Iskander. Turkish for Alexander. He led a successful 
rebellion against the Turks. His namesake, Scandeberg, called 
Lord Alexander, was descended from the old kings of Albania. 
Dowden calls Cliilde Harold "a glorified guide-book." It is as 
distinctly dedicated to the cause of liberty as were the famous 
sonnets of Wordsworth. 

II. 343-344. passed the barren spot . . . Penelope, etc. Ithaca, 
the home of Ulysses. Byron left Malta September 21, 1809, and 
after touching at Patras landed at Previsa, on the Albanian coast, 
September 29. Cf . Lines written in an Album at Malta : — 

" As o'er the cold sepulchral stone, 
Some name arrests the passer-by ; 



CANTO SECOND 213 

Thus when thou view'st this page alone, 
May mine extract thy pensive eye. 

** And when by thee that name is read, 
Perchance in some succeeding year, 
Reflect on me as on the dead, 
And think my heart is buried here." 

11. 345-354. the mount, etc. Leucadia, now Santa Maura. 
"From the promontory (Lover's Leap) Sappho is said to have 
thrown herself." — Byron. Cf. Don Juan, Canto II,, ccv.: — 
*' Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave." 

1. 356. Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar. " Actium and Trafal- 
gar need no further mention. The battle of Lepanto, equally bloody 
and considerable, but less known, was fought in the Gulf of Patras ; 
here the author of Don Quixote lost his left hand." — Byron. 

1. 368. And, sunk, etc. The Ms. has — 

" And roused him more from thought than he was wont, 
While Pleasure almost seemed to smoothe his pallid front." 

1. 371. Suli. Mountain district in Epirus. Pindus. Moun- 
tain chain in the interior. 

1. 381. shore unknown. "Circumstances, of little consequence 
to mention, led Mr. Hobhouse and myself into that country before 
we visited any other part of the Ottoman dominions ; and with the 
exception of Major Leake, then officially resident at Joannina, no 
other Englishmen have ever advanced beyond the capital into the 
interior, as that gentleman very lately assured me." — Byron. 

1. 388. red cross. Cf. Canto I., 404, note. 

1. 397. Ambracia's gulf. Arta, the scene of the battle of Actium. 

1. 398. woman. Cleopatra. Cf. Shakespeare, Antony and 
Cleopatra, Act II., sc. 4 : — 

" A hand that kings 
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing." 

1. 402. second Caesar's trophies rise. "Nicopolis, whose ruins 
are most extensive, is at some distance from Actium, where the 



214 NOTES 

wall of the Hippodrome survives in a few fragments." — Byuon. 
It was built by Augustus in honor of his victory. 

1. 405. was thy globe ordained, etc. Cf. Tennyson, Faith : — 

" Doubt no longer that the Highest is the wisest and the best, 
Let not all that saddens Nature blight thy hope and break thy rest." 

1. 407. Illyria's vales. The east side of the Adriatic, included 
by Albania. 

1. 415. Acherusia's lake. Near Suli. 

1. 410. primal city. Janina, the capital. Here Byron began 
the second canto of C/iilde Harold. 

1. 418. Albania's chief. AH Pasha, Viceroy of the province, 
who entertained Byron. Byron says: "Ali looked on me as his 
son. Indeed, he treated me like a child, sending me almonds and 
sugared sherbet, fruit, and sweetmeats twenty times a day." He 
expelled the French, and ruled with severity, but often with justice. 

1. 421. mountain-band. "Five thousand Suliotes, among the 
rocks and in the castle of Suli, withstood thirty thousand Alba- 
nians for eighteen years ; the castle at last was taken by bribery." 
— Byron. 

1. 424. Zitza. " The convent and village of Zitza are four hours' 
journey from Joannina, or Yanina, the capital of the Pachalick. 
In the valley the river Kalamas (once the Acheron) Hows, and not 
far from Zitza forms a fine cataract. The situation is, perhaps, the 
finest in Greece, though the approach to Delvinachi and parts of 
Acarnania and iEtolia may contest the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, 
and, in Attica, even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are very infe- 
rior ; as also every scene in Ionia or the Troad : I am almost 
inclined to add the approach to Constantinople ; but from the 
different features of the last, a comparison can hardly be made." 
— Byron. 

Cf. Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm, written while 
Byron was crossing the mountains, having lost his guide : — 



I 



CANTO SECOND 215 

" Chill and mirk is the nightly blast, 
Where Pindus' mountains rise ; 
And angry clouds are pouring fast 
The vengeance of the skies. 

" Our guides are gone, our hope is lost. 
And lightnings as they play, 
But show where rocks our path have crost, 
Or gild the torrent's spray." 

11. 453-459. Chimaera's alps, etc. A spur of the Pindus, so 
called from the name of the town, Chimtera. 

Acheron. The sacred river of the dead. 

11. 4()()-472. Dodona, etc. The site of the ancient oracle, dis- 
covered by a Greek archseologist, not far from Janina, 

11. 487-488. Tomerit. " Anciently Mount Tomarus." — Byron. 

Laos. The mountain stream (Aous), modern Viosa. 

1. 492. Tepalen. The birthplace and residence of Ali Pasha. 

1. 490. Haram. Private apartments of the chief. 

1. 518. cap of terror. Peculiar sheepskin helmet worn by the 
Turkish horsemen. 

1. 520. mutilated son. Eunuch. African negroes who guarded 
Turkish ladies. 

1. 530. Muezzin's call. This crier gives the call to prayer five 
times a day. "God is great. I testify that there is no God but 
God, and Muhamad is his prophet." — Bykon. 

I. 532. Ramazani's fast. The ninth month of the Moslem year, 
which begins with the new moon. The fast is kept from dawn to 
sunset. It was in this month that Byron was there. 

II. 543-549. She yields to one, etc. It is in such lines as these 
that the true Byron is revealed. Here he is not posing ; the thoughts 
escape ere he is aware. We must remember, too, that ■when he 
wrote these lines he did not think of publishing them. 



216 NOTES 

11. 554-567. Ali reclined. All boasted, in a letter to Byron 
written in 1813, that he had lately murdered six hundred persons 
in cold blood. The poet had a just prevision of the end of such a 
career. Ali was decapitated in the very palace where he had 
received Byron. The poet says : — 

" He received me in a large room paved with marble ; a fountain 
was playing in the centre ; the apartment was surrounded by scarlet 
ottomans." — (Letters) Keene. 

11. 561-562. Hafiz . . . Teian. Hafiz, a lyric poet, who flour- 
ished in the fourteenth century. Byron says: "The immortal 
Hafiz, the Oriental Anacreon." 

Teian. " Anacreon, the poet of courtly festivity." — Jebb. 

I. 568. 'Mid many things, etc. Ms. has — 

" Childe Harold with the chief held colloquy, 
Yet what they spoke it boots not to repeat : 
Converse may little charm strange ear or eye ; 
Albeit he rested on that spacious seat 
Of Moslem luxury, the choice retreat," etc. 

II. 586-589. Childe Harold saw them, etc. Cf. Wordsworth, 
Prelude, IX., 262-266: — 

" Meantime, day by day, the roads 
Were crowded with the bravest youth of France, 
And all the promptest of her spirits, linked 
In gallant soldiership, and posting on 
To meet the war upon her frontier bounds." 

1. 593. fellow-countrymen. ' ' Alluding to the wreckers of Corn- 
wall." — Byron. 

1. 596. Full on the coast. This is actual history. Byron was 
nearly wrecked here in the vessel provided by Ali Pasha, and was 
befriended by the Albanians. Cf. Byron, Letters, Vol. I., edited 
by Henley. Dallas gives a splendid account of the generous treat- 1 
ment which Byron received at All's hands and from the Suliotes. 

1. 620. white Achelous' tide. So called from the deposits of silt 
at its mouth, where stands the town Missolonghi, in which Byron 
died eleven years later, 



CANTO SECOND 217 

I. 622. Utraikey. Village on bay of Leutraki, near Actium. 

II. 631-639. On the smooth shore, etc. Byron delighted in such 
a picture. Cf. Wordsworth, Prelude, VI., 396-405. The celebra- 
tions in France on its federal day : — 

"The supper done, 
With flowing cups elate and happy thoughts 
We rose at signal given, and formed a ring 
And, hand in hand, danced round and round the board; 
All hearts were open, every tongue was loud 
With amity and glee ; we bore a name 
Honored in France, the name of Englishmen, 
And hospitably did they give us hail, 
As their forerunners in a glorious course ; 
And round and round the board we danced again." 

1. 648. this lay. Byron says, "These stanzas are partly taken 
from different Albinese songs, as far as I was able to make them 
out by the exposition of the Albinese in Romaic and Italian." 

1. 649. Tambourgi. Turkish for drummer. 

1. 652. Chimariot. Cf. 1. 453, note. 

1. 677. Previsa fell. In 1797 the French occupied the place, 
but All plundered the town the next year. 

1. 686. Giaours. Russians. 

horsetail. The standard of a Pasha. Cf. The Giaour : — 

" He came and went, like the Simoom, 
That harbinger of fate and gloom. 
Beneath whose widely wasting breath 
The very cypress droops to death." 

1. 692. Fair Greece, etc. Cf . The Giaour : — 

" 'Tis Greece, but loving Greece no more ! 
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
We start, for soul is wanting there. 
Here is the loneliness in death. 
That parts not quite with parting breath." 



218 NOTES 

C£. Don Juan, Canto III, : 

" The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 
Where grew the arts of war and peace, — 

Where Delos rose, and Phajbus sprung! 
Eternal summer gilds them yet, 
But all, except their sun, is set." 

1. 702. Phyla's brow. The fort of Phyle was garrisoned by 
Thrasybulus against the Thirty Tyrants from Athens. Here Byron 
got his first view of Athens. 

1. 723. Gaul or Muscovite. French or Russian. 

1. 726. Helots. Spartan serfs. 

1. 729. city. Constantinople. 

Giaour. Here for Christian, as Allah is for Mohammedan. 

1. 7;)0. Othman's race. Ottomans. 

1. 781. tower. The Seraglio, or palace of the Sultan. 

1. 733. Wahab's rebel brood. The Arab Wahab revolted and 
seized Mecca and Medina. 

1. 748. Stamboul. Turkish for Constantinople. 

1. 749. Sophia's shrine. The mosque of St. Sophia, built as a 
Christian church. 

1. 7U2. Lacedemon's hardihood. The Spartans. 

1. 801. how lovely, etc. Cf. Wordsworth, Address to Kilchurn 
Castle : — 

" Oh! there is life that breathes not, powers there are 
That touch each other to the quick in modes 
Which the gross world uo sense hath to perceive, 
No soul to dream of." 

1. 812. Tritonia's airy shrine. The temple of Minerva, on th 
promontory of Colonna or Sunium. 

1. 821. olive. The gift of Minerva to Attica. 

1. 822. Hymettus. Mountain near Athens, famous for honey. 



i 



Jl 



CANTO SECOND 219 

1. 826. Mendeli's marbles. Mount Pentelicus. 
1. 836„ Athena's tower. The rartlienon. 

Marathon. " What then must be our feelings when standing on 
the tuniuhis of the two hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon ? 
The principal barrow has recently been opened by Fauvel ; few or 
no relics, as vases, etc. , were found by the excavator. The plain of 
Marathon was offered to me for sale at the sum of sixteen thousand 
piastres, about nine hundred pounds ! Alas ! — ' Expende — quot 
libras in duce summo — invenies ? ' — was the dust of Miltiades 
worth no more ? It could scarcely have fetched less if sold by 
weight.'''' — Byron. 

1. 848. Mountains above. Cf. Don Juan, III. : 
"The mountains look on Maratliou- 
And Marathon looks on the sea ; 
And, musing there an hour alone, 
I dreamed that Greece might still he free." 

1. 855. Yet to the remnants, etc. Cf. The Giaour for similar 
pathos : — 

" He who hath bent him o'er the dead 
Ere the first day of death is fled, 

So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, 

The first last look by death reveal'd, 

Sucb is the aspect. of this shore ; 

'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more." 

1. 864. The original Ms. concluded with this stanza. Byron 
wrote the rest after his return on the 2d of July, 1811. 

1. 883. inglorious lays. He set no value on this poem, but 
thought the Hints from Horace should be published. Cf. Intro- 
ductory note to Canto I. 

1.891. Thou too art gone, etc. Ci. To Thyrza : — 
" Well hast thou left in life's best bloom 
The cup of woe for me to drain : 
If rest alone be in the tomb, 

I would not wish thee here again. 



220 NOTES 

"Teach me — too early taught by thee: 
To bear, forgiving and forgiven : 
On earth thy love was such to me ; 
It fain would form my hope in heaven." 

1. 905. The parent, friend, etc. We can understand the loneli- 
ness of this lonely man when we know that on his return the 
circle was narrowed by the death of his mother, his friends Long, 
Wingfield, Eddlestone, and Matthews, and this, to us, unknown 
Thyrza. On the receipt of a letter from Byron, his mother, who 
was ill, said, " If I should be dead before he comes what a strange 
thing it would be." She died without seeing him. Byron was so 
affected that he could not go to the funeral, but viewed the cortege 
from the abbey. He had supped full of horrors. There remained 
the faithful sister, and to her he turned. 

1. 918. What is the worst. Hamlet-like, he stands where the 
atmosphere is stifling, and yet the sweet bells are not jangled, 
harsh, or out of tune, but yield their tenderest and saddest music. 
The strain here is in the same key as the early stanzas of In 
Memoriam. The sudden and unprecedented popularity of the 
Childe Harold turned the mourning into a strangely new and 
dizzy sensation as he looked down from the high pinnacle of fame. 
The secret of the power of the poem lay in the fact that its 
novelty and romance could be appreciated at once by a public 
taste not yet jaded by the dainty and exquisite. 

Mr. Dallas says that it was with the greatest difficulty that he 
could induce Byron to allow his name to be published with the 
poem, because he feared the enemies he had made by his satire, 
and that the world would fix upon him the character of Childe 
Harold. 

Alluding to the singular fact that the most conservative country 
in Europe should have produced such a revolutionary poet, Mr. 
John Morley says: "Just because it was wonderful that England 
should have produced Byron, it would have been wonderful if she 
had received any permanently deep impression from him, or per- 
ceived a lasting appreciation of his work, or cheerfully and intel- 
ligently recognised his immense force. And accordingly we cannot 



CANTO THIRD 221 

help perceiving that generations are arising who know not Byron." 
Charles Kingsley says- "What has put Byron out of favor with 
the public of late has been, not his faults, but his excellencies. 
His artistic good taste, his classical polish, his sound, shrewd sense, 
his hatred of cant, his insight into humbug, his shallow, pitiable 
habit of being always intelligible — these are the sins that con- 
demn him." 

CANTO THIRD 

The return to England and the events of the years from 1812 
to 1816 constitute the second period in Byron's work. He lived 
most of the time in London, but the visits to Newstead were 
frequent, negotiating with lawyers and creditors. He makes three 
speeches in the House of Lords, superintends the publication of 
Cantos I. and XL of Childe Harold, which appeared in February, 
1812. The result of this startling work brought him into close 
contact with authors, on the one hand, and men of the world on 
the other. The former had little influence upon him in comparison 
to the latter, who led him into the world of fashion. For this 
world he poured forth in dazzling rapidity those romances which 
palpitate with the intoxication of revolt against the conventional 
and the comfortable. While there are to be found in these pieces 
vigor of movement, richness of melody, and mastery of language, 
yet the abundant affectation and cynicism, the sonorous rhetoric, 
the lack of organic structure, must serve to keep them in the 
sphere of interesting and creditable verse rather than that of 
great poetry. But the association with the men of art and letters 
of the time reveals two characteristics of Byron's nature — love for 
such a great-hearted gentleman as Scott, whom he called the 
"monarch of Parnassus," and reverence for the strength and 
purity of Wordsworth, whom he had earlier abused. These ele- 
ments indicate the rise of a new Byron, who will embody in 
matchless art the pathos and the passion of a noble soul whose 
temper has been chastened by pain, and whose heart has been 
softened by sorrow. For this reason we need not deplore that 
uncongenial union with Miss Milbanke, for, as Charles Kingsley 



222 NOTES 

says in this connection, "Providence uses strange tools in his cos- 
mogony ; but he does not use them in vain." It is to this tragic 
event, and its natural sequence in the life of two souls, that the 
w^orld owes Byron's purest art. It took place on the 2d of Janu- 
ary, 1815, and the conditions attending the act are pathetically 
revealed in The Dream : — 

" It was a strange order that the doom 
Of these two creatures should he thus traced out 
Almost like a reality — the one 
To end in madness ; both in misery." 

A daughter, Augusta Ada, was born to them on December 10 ; 
five weeks later Mrs. Byron took the child, and, on the pre- 
tence of paying a visit to her family, left Newstead never to 
return. Of the cause for this act the world has many theories 
but few facts, and they may be found in the various volumes 
devoted to Byron's biography. We are more interested here with 
the effects of this act>. Henceforth there is no occasion for pre- 
tended sorrows and fictitious pain ; they both became permanent 
inmates of the breast. It is this natural sorrow, grief, and pain, 
which drives him into exile, and ennobles the Cbilde of the 
remaining cantos, where the personal emotion of the poet, chas- 
tened and deepened by his experiences, yields richer harmonies, 
and where consolation comes, not in rioting and in theatrical 
posing, but in sympathy with man, in society of great actions, 
and in communion with God in the solitudes of lake, sea, and 
mountain. 

Byron had tasted the pleasures of a life in society for four 
short years, and now he felt their decay. The cup that was 
handed to him on the advent of Childe Harold had been drained 
to the dregs, and as he stands upon the deck of the vessel with 
its prow turned toward the deep on April 25, 1816, he sees the 
sweet face of that daughter of whose companionship cruel fatej 
had deprived him. There is no picture in literature more pathetic] 
than this with which the third canto opens. 

This canto was first published in 1816, without a preface, but] 
with this motto : " Afinque cette application vous forgat de penserj 



CANTO THIRD 223 

k autre chose ; il nig a en v^rit^ cle remedie que celui la et le 
temps." — Lettre du roi de Prusse a d'Alembert (September 7, 
1776). 

The contrast between the first two cantos and the third is much 
like that of Shelley's between Queen Mab and Prometheus Unbound. 

11. 2-4. Ada, sole daughter, etc. This phrase is the fundamental 
note from this time on through all the variations of movement. 
For contrast, cf. Cowper, The Task, III., 290: — 

"Oh, friendly to the best pursuits of man, 
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, 
Domestic life in rural leisure passed ! " 

Cf. Lara, I., 5: — 

" Whate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been ; 
That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last. 
And spake of passions, but of passions past." 

1. 12. And the waves bound, etc. The strain of the sea again. 
Cf . Corsair : — 

" She walks the waters like a thing of life 
And seems to dare the elements to strife. 

Meantime, the stately breeze serenely blew, 
And fast and falcon-like the vessel tlew." 

Siege of Corinth : — 

" Blue roll the waters, blue the sky, 
Spreads like an ocean hung on high." 

The Island, I. : — 

" The breeze springs up; the lately flapping sail 
Extends its arch before the growing gale." 

1. 21. outlaw, etc. Byron never lays the blame of his actions 
upon others. Cf. Shelley : — 

" None was near to mock my streaming eyes 
Which pour'd their warm drops on the sunny ground, 
So without shame I spake : ' I will be wise. 
And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies 



224 NOTES 

Such power, for I grow weary to behold 

The selfish and the strong still tyrannise 

Without reproach or check.' I then control'd 

My tears, my heart grew calm, and I was meek and bold." 

11. 38-55. He, who has grown aged, etc. Goethe said, " Byron 
is quite too much in the dark about himself ; the moment he 
begins to reflect he is a child." While this may be true in general 
of Byron's work, up to this time the revelation of these stanzas is 
quite the contrary to Goethe's statement. He has risen into the 
sphere of true being, the What Is of Browning. Deeds, if not 
years, have brought the philosophic mind. Of. Shelley, Prome- 
theus Unbound, IV. : — 

" To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite ; 
To forgive wrongs darker than death or night ; 
To defy Power, which seems omnipotent ; 
To love and bear ; to hope till Hope creates 
From its own wreck the thing it contemplates." 
11. 56-61. I have thought, etc. Taine asks, " Who would not 
be touched by avowals so passionate and complete?" Contrast 
this with that of Wordsworth, Prelude, XI., 79 : — 

*' I had approached, like other youths, the shield 
Of human nature from the golden side. 
And would have fought, even to the death, to attest 
The quality of the metal which I saw." 
1.64. without accusing Fate. Charles Kingsley says : "Byron 
has the most intense and awful sense of moral law, —of law 
external to himself. Byron's cry is : There is a law, and therefore 
I am miserable. Why cannot I keep the law ? Shelley's is : 
There is a law, and therefore I am miserable. Why should not 
the law be abolished ? " 

1. 69. wounds which kill not, etc. Cf. Wordsworth, "There 
is a bondage," etc. : — 

" Who, henceforth, must wear 

Their fetters in their souls." 

1. 91. He found in wonder-works, etc. The student shoulc 

study carefully Byron's relation to nature in the last two cantos 



CANTO THIRD 225 

for illustrations of what Arnold says : *' When he is inspired, Nature 
herself seems to take the pen from him as she took it from Words- 
worth, and to write for him as she wrote for Wordsworth, with 
her own penetrating simplicity." Cf. Landscape in Poetry^ F. T. 
Palgrave, "Scott and Byron." 

11. 108-109. Proud, etc. There is something sublime in this 
loneliness of Byron. His trials have revealed to him depths 
within himself of which he had not before dreamed. "As for 
poets," says Scott, " I have seen all the best of my time and 
country. I never thought any of them would come up to an artist's 
notion of the character except Byron. His countenance was a 
thing to dream of." 

11. 110-118. Where rose the mountains, etc. There is nothing 
in Wordsworth more 'intense with love of nature than this, and 
Wordsworth is the only poet who has given us anything to match 
it. Cf. Prelude, II. : — 

" Yet were I grossly destitute of all 
Those human sentimeuts that make this earth 
So dear, if I should fail with grateful voice 
To speak of you, ye mountains, and ye lakes 
And sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds 
That dwell among the hills where I was born. 
If in my youth I have been pure in heart, 
If, mingling with the world, I am content 
With my own modest j)leasures, and have lived 
With God and Nature communing, removed 
From little enmities and low desires, 
The gift is yours : . . . 

Ye winds and sounding cataracts! 'tis yours, 
Ye mountains! thine, O Nature! Thou hast fed 
My lofty speculations ; and m thee. 
For this uneasy heart of ours, I find 
A never-failing principle of joy 
And purest passion." 

1. 127. yon heaven which woos us, etc. Cf. Lachin-ij-Gair : — 

" Oh, for the crags that are wild and majestic. 
The steep frowning glories of dark Loch-na-Garr." 

Q 



226 NOTES 

Cf. The Prayer of Nature : — 

" Shall man confine his Maker's sway 

To Gothic domes of mouldering stone ? 
Thy temple is the face of day : 
Earth, ocean, heaven, thy boundless throne." 

11. 137-145. Self-exiled Harold. Scott says: "The commen- 
tary, through which the meaning of this melancholy tale is rendered 
obvious, is still in vivid remembrance ; for the errors of those who 
excel their fellows in gifts and accomplishments are not soon for- 
gotten. Those scenes, ever most painful to the bosom, were ren- 
dered more so by public discussion ; and it is at least possible that 
amongst those who exclaimed most loudly on this unhappy occa- 
sion were some in whose eyes literary superiority exaggerated Lord 
Byron's offence." 

1. 146. Stop! — for thy tread, etc. Somewhat in contrast to 
Goldsmith with knapsack, walking-stick, and flute, Byron trav- 
elled for a time in a coach modelled after one of Napoleon's. 
At Brussels the coach was abandoned for a caleche. It was during 
his stay at Brussels that he visited the field of Waterloo, where 
Wellington defeated Napoleon only a year before. 

1. 148. Is the spot marked, etc. In 1823 the colossal " Lion of 
Waterloo" was erected here. 

1. 159. In 'pride of place.' Byron says : " Pride of place is a 
term of falconry, and means the highest pitch of flight." Ms. 
has — 

" Here his last flight the haughty eagle flew, 
Then tore with bloody beak the fatal plain." 

1. 164. Fit retribution, etc. Napoleon at St. Helena. Cf. Ode 
to Napoleon Buonaparte : — 

" Thine evil deeds are writ in gore, 
Nor written thus in vain — 
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more, 

Or deepen every stain : 
If thou hadst died as honour dies, 
Some new Napoleon might rise." 



CANTO THIRD 227 

"Never since ^schylus was seen so tragic a pomp; and men 
followed, with a sort of pang, tlie train of gigantic figures, wliom 
lie brought in mournful ranks before their eyes from tlie far past." 
— Taink. 

1. 109. The patched-up idol. The Holy Alliance. 

1. 175. Europe's flowers, etc. Cf. Hon. George S. Boutwell's 
address on What to do with the Philippines. In replying to those 
who say there are few great men in America (1898), he says : " The 
country gave its young men, the hope of the future, to the contest 
of 1801 ; and our impoverishment, whatever it may have been, is due 
to the sacrifices thus made. The memorials in all the universities 
and colleges, in all the cities and towns of the country, may indi- 
cate, but they cannot measure, the extent or the magnitude of the 
losses that the nation has thus been called to endure." 

1. 180. when the myrtle wreathes the sword. Cf. Ode to 
Napoleon Buonaparte : — 

" Where may the wearied eye repose, 

When gazing on the Great ; 
Where neither guilty glory glows, 

Nor despicable state ? 
Yes — one — the first — the last — the best — 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 

Whom envy dared not hate, 
Bequeath the name of Washington 
To make man blush there was but one." 

1. 182. There was a sound of revelry, etc. Professor Nichol 
says: " No familiarity can detract from Waterloo, which holds its 
own by Barbour's Bannockburn and Scott's Flodden. Sir Walter 
generously doubts whether any verses in English surpass these 
lines in vigour." 

Cf. Miss Martineau's Introduction to the History of Peace: " It 
was on the evening of the 15th [of June, 1815] that Wellington 
received the news at Brussels of the whereabout of the French. 
He instantly perceived that the object was to separate his force 
from the Prussians. He sent off orders to his troops in every 



228 NOTES 

direction to march upon the Quatre-Bras. This clone, he dressed 
and went to a ball, where no one would have discovered from his 
manner that he had heard any remarkable news. It was whispered 
about the rooms, however, that the French were not far off ; and 
some officers dropped off in the course of the evening, — called by 
their duty, and leaving heavy hearts behind them. Many parted 
so who never met again. It was about midnight when the general 
officers were summoned. Somewhat later, the younger officers 
were very quietly called away from their partners, and by sunrise 
of the summer morning of the 16th all were on their march." 

1. 201. Brunswick's fated chieftain. The Duke of Brunswick, 
killed at Quatre-Bras, June 16, 1815, two days before Waterloo. 

1. 227. 'Cameron's gathering.' The slogan or rallying-cry of 
the Cameron Highlanders. 

1. 228. Lochiel. The chief of the Caraerons. 

Albyn. Gaelic for Scotland. 

1. 235. Evan . . . Donald. Sir Evan Cameron and his de- 
scendant Donald. 

1. 286, Ardennes. The forest between Brussels and Waterloo. 
Mrs. Oliphant says, "The description of Waterloo has embodied 
for us the wonderful excitement of that historical scene as few 
historians could do." 

I. 254. loftier harps than mine. Especially Scott, whom Byron 
loved. Cf. Scott, Field of Waterloo. The student should read 
here, too, Tennyson's great Ode on the Death of the Duke of 
Wellington and Wordsworth's Character of the Happij Warrior. 

II. 255-262. Yet one, etc. Major Howard, the son of Byron's 
guardian, the Earl of Carlisle. Byron had satirized the Earl in the 
English Bards., because he had not been willing to present him to 
the House of Lords. Being advised by his sister Augusta to make 
amends for the insult, Byron wrote this splendid tribute to the son. 

1. 263. There have been tears, etc. The singular beauty and 
tenderness of this stanza, the sincerity and depth of its human 



CANTO THIRD 229 

love in union with nature reminds us again of Wordsworth. Cf. 
Wordsworth, When to the attractions of the husu world. 

1. 265. tree. Byron says : " My guide from Mont St. Jean over 
the field seemed intelligent and accurate. The place where Major 
Howard fell was not far from two tall and solitary trees (there was 
a third, cut down or shivered in the battle), which stand a few 
yards from each other at a pathway's side. Beneath these he died, 
and was buried." 

I. 299. Vitality of poison. Cf . The Dream : — 

" He fed on poisons, but they had no power, 
But were a kind of nutriment." 

II. 302-307. but Life will suit, etc. Cf. In Memoriam:^ 

*' Behold, we know not anything ; 

1 can but trust that good shall fall 
At last — far off — at last, to all, 
And every sorrow change to spring." 

Cf. Tennyson, Nothing will Die, and All Things will Die. 

11. 313-316. Their children's lips shall echo, etc. Cf. Tennyson, 
Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington : — 

" His triumph will be sung 
By some yet unmoulded tongue 
Far on in summers that we shall not see." 

11. 317-370. There sunk the greatest, etc. Byron has been 
accused of inconsistency in his attitude toward Napoleon, but it 
is only the inconsistency of history. History cherishes the genius 
of Napoleon while lamenting its method. Cf. Don Juan, Canto 
IX., stanza ix., where of Pitt he says : — 

" Never had mortal man such opportunity, 
Except Napoleon, or abused it more." 

Cf. Emerson, Representative 3fen, " Napoleon, the Man of the 
World ; " Carlyle, Hei'o Worship. 

11. 365-370. men's thoughts were the steps, etc. The feeling 
that Napoleon could not be resisted was the greatest aid to him, 



230 NOTES 

and he should have taken Alexander for his model rather than the 
cynic Diogenes. 

11. 387, 388. One breast laid open, etc. Cf. Wordsworth : — 

" Blest statesman he whose mind's unselfish will 
Leaves him at ease among grand thoughts." 

1. 409. Maternal Nature. Byron went from Brussels up the 
Rhine. The sudden transition here from ambition and strife to 
Nature and her charms is indicative of the change in his own 
character. Cf. Shelley, Prometheus, I., " The Earth " : — 

" I am the earth, 
Thy mother," etc. 

I. 435. What deeds of prowess, etc. Mr. John Morley says, 
" No poet has had a more sublime sense of the infinite melancholy 
of history." 

II. 476-496. For there was soft remembrance, etc. This tribute 
to his sister Augusta is what we are prepared for by the previous 
allusions to her. Cf. Canto I., 84, note. Cf. To Augusta: — 

" When all around grew drear and dark, 
And reason half withheld her ray, 
And hope but shed a dying spark, 
Which more misled my lonely way, 

** When fortune changed, and love fled far, 
And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, 
Thou wert the solitary star 

Which rose, and set not to the last." 

11.479-482. learned to love . . . the helpless looks of blooming 
infancy, etc. Cf. Cantos II., 547 ; III., 1076 ; IV., 1336. 

11. 497-536. The castled crag, etc. This beautiful lyric was 
written to his sister from the banks of the Rhine in May, 1816. 
From here the character Childe Harold disappears, until in the last 
of Canto IV. he reappears to say his farewell. The castle crowns 
the summit of one of the Seven Mountains (Siebengebirge), oppo 
site Bonn. 



CANTO THIRD 231 

II. 540-554. Beneath its base, etc. General Hoche and General 
Marceau were buried in the same grave. The latter was woimded 
in the battle at Altenkirchen, near Coblenz, in 179G, and died soon 
after at the age of twenty-seven. 

1. 555. Ehrenbreitstein. A fortress on the heights opposite 
Coblenz. It was betrayed to the French, 1799, and was dismantled 
and blown up by them in 1801. 

11. 574-577. There can be no farewell, etc. Cf. Wordsworth, 
Tintern Abbey : — 

" Not only with the sense 
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 
That in this moment there is life and food 
For future years." 

1. 594. And throned Eternity in icy halls. Cf. Coleridge, HijiJin 
to Mont Blanc: — 

" Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, 
Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven, 
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God." 

1. 596. The Avalanche. Cf. Manfred, I., 1. 

" Around his waist are forests braced, 
The Avalanche in his hand." 
Cf. Shelley, Prometheus, II. : — 

" Hark ! the rushing snow, 
The sun-awakened Avalanche, whose mass, 
Thrice sifted by the storm, had gathered there 
Flake after flake," etc. 

1. 602. Morat. Here, not far from the lake of Neuchatel, the 
Duke of Burgundy was defeated by the Swiss in 1476. Fifteen 
thousand dead were left on the field. 

1. 609. Cannae's carnage. Forty-five thousand Romans fell in 
this battle. 

1. 617. Draconic. Alluding to the severity of the laws. 



232 NOTES 

1. 618. lonelier column. Standing on the ruins of Aventicum 
(Avenches), the ancient capital of Helvetia. 

I. 628. Julia. Byron says : " Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian 
priestess, died soon after a vain endeavor to save her father, con- 
demned to death as a traitor by Aulus CiBcina. Her epitaph was 
discovered many years ago ; it is thus : ' Julia Alpinula hie jaceo, 
infelicis patris infelix proles, Dece AventicB sacerdos. Exorare 
patris necem non potui : male mori in fatis illi erat. Vixi annos 
xxiii.' I know of no human composition so affecting as this, nor. 
a history of deeper interest. These are the names and actions 
which ought not to perish, and to which we turn, with a true and 
healthy tenderness, from the wretched and glittering detail of a 
confused mass of conquests and battles, with which the mind is 
roused for a time to a false and feverish sympathy, from whence it 
recurs at length with all the nausea consequent on such intoxica- 
tion." It is now known that both monument and inscription were 
invented by a certain Paulus Guilielmus of the sixteenth century. 
The fraud was not discovered until after Byron wrote these lines. 

II. 672-680. Is it not better, etc. Cf . To Augusta : — 

"I ask 
Of Nature that with which she will comply — 
It is hut in her summer's sun to bask, 
To mingle with the quiet of her sky, 
To see her gentle face without a mask, 
And never gaze on it with apathy. 
She was my early friend and now shall be 
My Sister." 

Cf. Wordsworth, Prelude, XII., 201 : — 

" I had known 
Too forcibly, too early in my life, 
Visitings of imaginative power 
For this to last : I shook the habit off, 
Entirely and forever, and again 
In Nature's presence stood, as now I stand, 
A sensitive being, a creative soul." 



CANTO THIRD 233 

I. 683. High mountains are a feeling. Cf. Wordsworth, Tintern 

Abbey : — 

" The sounding cataract 
Hauuted me like a passion : the tall rock, 
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 
Their colors and their forms, were then to me 
An appetite, a feeling, and a love," etc. 

II. 699-700. And when, at length, etc. Cf. Shelley, Hymn to 
Intellectual Beauty : — 

" Thy light alone — like mist o'er mountains driven, 
Or music by the night wind sent, 
Thro' strings of some still instrument. 
Or moonlight on a midnight stream, 
Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream." 

11. 708-716. Are not the mountains, etc. Cf. Tennyson, The 
Higher Pantheism : — 

" Dark is the world to thee: thyself art the reason why, 
For is He not all but that which has power to feel, ' I am I ' ? " 

Arnold says of Wordsworth in contrast to Byron : — 

*' The cloud of mortal destiny. 
Others will front it fearlessly — 
But who like him, will put it by ? " 

1. 720. To look on One. Rousseau's early life was spent at 
Geneva. He was the first to experience that tragedy of revolution 
in his own breast which was necessary to the new birth of Euro- 
pean civilization, and it was but natural that Byron should pay 
tribute to him here, Cf. E. Caird, Literature and Philosophy, for 
a well-balanced estimate of Rousseau's influence ; also J. Morley, 
Bousseau ; Carlyle, Hero Worship. 

Here at Geneva Byron and Shelley met for the first time, and 
the results of this meeting are as interesting to the student of 
literary history as that other at Racedown in 1797, which revealed 
the natural kinship of Coleridge, William and Dorothy Words- 
worth, making three people one soul. In each case the ivy had 
found its oak upon which to twine. Shelley clung to Byron as 



234 NOTES 

Coleridge did to Wordsworth, and like him added grace and beauty 
to strength. During this association of four months Byron wrote 
most of that poetry which is distinguished for grace and beauty, for 
loftiness of inspiration and maturity of reflection. Together they 
traversed all Rousseau's ground around the lake, with the Ilelo'ise 
before them. They visited the garden and summer house where 
Gibbon composed his immortal work, and plucked a leaf from the 
Acacia which he planted. They boated upon the lake, and saun- 
tered by moonlight in the woods. They spent their time in 
delightful amusements. They railed much against a world which 
did not allow them to do as they would. "Around Leman they 
talked endless sentiment," says Mrs. Oliphant, "and shed tears of 
voluptuous emotion. Strange contrast and pendant to the poetic 
life of Grasmere and Keswick, with all their pieties and solemni- 
ties, the grave simplicity, the laborious calms, the mountain still- 
ness and voices of the cataract from the steeps." 

1.726. self -torturing sophist, wild Rousseau. Byron says, "My 
mother, before I was twenty, would have it that I was like Rous- 
seau." — Moore, Life of Bifvoji, p. 124. 

Cf. Shelley, Julian and Maddalo^ for a fine sketch of the 
Byron of this time. 

I. 744. Julie. In Rousseau's Nouvelle Helo'ise, a story of two 
lovers, St. Rreux and Julie. 

II. 746-748. the memorable kiss. Rousseau says in his Confes 
sions that when he was the guest of Madame d'Epinay, near Paris,, 
he loved her sister-in-law, Madame d'Houdetot, and that he use^ 
to meet her every morning to receive the kiss of salutation. 

1. 755. Suspicion's sanctuary. Rousseau late in life became 
misanthropic. 

1. 764. Those oracles. Ruskin, in speaking of his own early love^ 
of nature, says: "Before that time no child could have been bor 
to care for mountains, or for the men that lived among them. Til 
Rousseau's time there had been no ' sentimental ' love of nature 
and till Scott's no such apprehensive love of ' all sorts and condi 



4! 



j 



CANTO THIRD 235 

tionsof men,' not in the soul merely, but in the flesh." — Prceterita, 
chapter vi. 

11. 798-851. Clear, placid Leman. Here we have a poem worthy 
of Wordsworth's test. It is said that Shelley at this time made Byron 
read Wordsworth. Cf. Sonnet on Chillon, To Lake Leman. 

" Lake Leman lies by Chilloii's walls, 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its massy waters meet and flow : 
Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 

Which round about the wave enthralls." 

— The Prisoner of Chillon^ VI. 

I. 807. It is the hush of night. Cf. The Corsair : — 

" 'Tis midnight: on the mountains brown 
The cold round moon shines deeply down ; 
Blue roll the waters, blue the sky 
Spreads like an ocean hung on high." 

II. 834-842. All heaven and earth are still. Cf. Keats : — 

" I stood tiptoe on a little hill 
The air was cooling and so very still," etc. 

Cf. Wordsworth, Composed upon Westminster Bridge : — 

" Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will : 
Dear God ! the very leaves seem asleep. 
And all that mighty heart is lying still." 

Cf. Shelley, Prometheus, II., "Asia" : — 

" Fit throne for such a Power! magnificent! 
How glorious art thou, Earth! " 

The student should study the Prometheus for its revolutionary 
spirit and its splendid descriptions of Nature. 

1. 852. Persian. Cf. Wordsworth, Excursion, IV.: — 
" The Persian — zealous to reject 
Altar and image, and the inclusive walls 
And roofs of temples built by human hands — 
To loftiest heights ascending, from their tops, 



236 NOTES 

With myrtle-wreathed tiara on his brow, 
Presented sacrifice to moon and stars, 
And to the winds and mother elements. 
And the whole circle of the heavens, for him 
A sensitive existence, and a god, 
With lifted hands invoked and songs of praise." 
11. 865-869. From peak to peak, etc. Cf. Wordsworth, To 
Joanna : — 

" The Rock, like something starting from a sleep, 
Took up the lady's voice, and laughed again; 
The ancient Woman seated on Hehu-crag 
Was ready with her cavern : Hammar-scar 
And the tall steep of Silver How sent forth 
A noise of laughter ; Southern Loughrigg heard, 
And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone ; 
Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky 
Carried the lady's voice, — old Skiddaw blew 
His speaking-trumpet ; — back out of the clouds 
Of Glaramara southward came the voice ; 
And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head." 
Excursion^ II. : — 

" Many are the notes 

Which in his tuneful course the wind draws forth 

From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing shores. 

And well those lofty brethren bear their part 

In the wild concert." 

I. 870. Most glorious night. Cf. Shelley, To Night, for con- 
trast to this : — 

" Wrap thy form in a mantle grey, 
Star-inwrought ! 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day ; 
Kiss her until she be wearied out, 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land." 

II. 897-900. Sky, mountains, river, etc. Cf. Wordsworth, 
dress to Kilchnrn Castle : — 

" Oh ! there is life that breathes not ; Powers there are 
That touch each other to the quick in modes 
Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive, 
No soul to dream of." 



CANTO THIRD 237 

11.909-912. Soul, heart, mind, passions, etc. "Byron's soul 
was exalted by the broad and mighty aspects of nature ; for 
mosaic work he was unfitted ; a mountain, the sea, a thunder 
storm — such imposing objects aroused his noble rage.'" — E, C. 
StediMan, Victorian Poets, p. 197. 

1.916. With breath all incense. Cf. Manfred, III., 2; The 
Address to the Sun: — 

" Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, 
Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts 
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd 
Themselves in orisons." 

Byron admired Ossian. In a two-volume edition of Ossian's 
works, in the Sumner Collection in the library of Harvard Univer- 
sity, will be found interesting marginalia by Byron. There is also 
a manuscript of Byron's hitherto unpublished poem, A Version of 
Ossian''s Address to the JSun. Ossian is in striking contrast to 
Pope, of whom Byron says: "I shall presume to say that Pope is 
as great a poet as Shakespeare or Milton ; he is a Greek temple. 
You may call Shakespeare and Milton pyramids if you please, but 
I prefer the temple." 

11. 924-932, Clarens, etc, A village at the head of Lake Geneva, 
described by Rousseau in the Nouvelle Helo'ise. This was sacred 
ground to the two young adventurers. Buskin says : "Neither the 
force and precision, nor the rhythm, of Byron's language, were at 
all the central reasons for my taking him for master, , , . But 
here I had found a man who spoke only of what he had seen and 
known. The thing wholly new and precious to me in Byron 
was his measured and living truth — measured as compared with 
Homer; and living as compared with everybody else," 

1, 961. make his heart a spirit. Mr. Noel says, " The prophet- 
poets, Rousseau and Byron, pointed men to the World Soul, com- 
manding them once more to veil their faces before the swift, subtle 
splendour of Life : this they named Nature ; we name it God," 



238 NOTES 

1. 978, Lausanne ! and Ferney. The former was the residence 
of Gibbon when he wrote The Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire ; the latter, the residence of Voltaire. 

1. 988. on daring doubts. Both these men attacked revealed 
religion. 

1. 987. The one. Voltaire. 

1. 996. The other. Gibbon. 

1. 1000, with solemn sneer. Cf. The Decline and Fall, chap- 
ters XV. and xvi. Professor Nichol says, "These verses of Byion 
are the quintessence of criticism on Gibbon and Voltaire." 

1, 1023. Italia. The Shelleys returned to England in Septem- 
ber, 1816, and Byron continued his travels into Italy by the Sim- 
plon and Lago Maggiore. 

I. 1050. I have not loved the world, etc. Mr. John Morley 
says, " His lot was cast among spent forces, and while it is no 
hyperbole to say that he himself was the most enormous force of 
his time, he was only half conscious of this, if indeed he did not 
always inwardly shrink from crediting his own power and 
strength. ' ' 

II. 1073-1076. Albeit my brow, etc. It is true that Ada never 
again saw her father, and that his voice did bring her some delight 
when late in life she came to know his poetry. She was brought 
up in ignorance of him until invited to Newstead by Colonel Wild- 
man. He read some of her father's poems to her, and when she 
inquired whose they were, he pointed to the portrait of Byron by 
Phillips. She then shut herself in one of the rooms and read his 
works. When she was six years of age Byron had her miniature 
painted. This and a lock of her hair he cherished. 

11. 1090-1094. Though the grave closed between us, etc. Ad 
married the Earl of Lovelace, Lord Ockham. The present Lord 
Wentworth and Lady Ann Blunt are her surviving children. In 
March of the year of his death Byron received a letter from his 
sister answering some inquiries of his in regard to Ada. When 



« 



CANTO THIRD 239 

Trelawny arrived at Missolonghi he found this letter, the minia- 
ture, and Byron's unfinished reply lying on the table in the room 
where the body lay. Not long before her death Ada requested to 
be buried beside her father. Her ashes rest on the poet's left, 
and those of his mother on his right, in the old gray church at 
Hucknall-Torkard. I made my pilgrimage to this quaint church 
in 1886, and the genial old sexton, who buried Ada, took pride in 
showing the framed bit of embroidery of the Byron arms which 
rested on the poet's coffin ; the plain stone which covers the poet's 
dust, with the name Byron inscribed upon it ; and the Register of 
Burials which bears the following record of the daughter's inter- 
ment : "1852. Died at 69 Cumberland Place, London. Buried 
December 3. Aged thirty-six." On the church wall is a marble 
tablet commemorating the poet. This was the gift of his devoted 
sister, Augusta. Cf. William Winter, Gray Days and Gold, for 
an interesting description of the church and the tomb. 

This canto was completed at Ouchy, near Lausanne, June, 
1817, where Byron made his tour through the Bernese Oberland 
with Hobhouse. During June and July he wrote The Prisoner of 
Chillon, The Dream, Monody on Sheridan, and Manfred. 

His account of this excursion reveals his state of mind : "I am 
a lover of nature . . . but the recollection of bitterness, and more 
especially of recent and more home desolation, which must accom- 
pany me through life, have preyed upon me here ; and neither the 
music of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, the torrent, 
the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one 
moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me to 
lose my own wretched identity in the majesty, and the power, and 
the glory around, above, and beneath me." 

Mrs. Uliphant says: " In the third canto, the new beginning of 
this great poem, Byron attains his climax. He has never been so 
near our sympathies, never so near the deeper secrets of life. For 
the first time he comes within the range of influence more pene- 
trating and sacred than the passions and semi-fictitious despair of 
youth." 



240 NOTES 



CANTO FOURTH 

In November, 1816, Byron reached Venice, "the greenest isle 
of the imagination," where he remained for three years. In the 
spring of 1817 lie visited the chief Italian cities, especially those 
associated with art and letters : Arqua, where Petrarch was bnried ; 
Ferrara, associated with Tasso ; Florence, and Rome. Here he 
gathered the material for the fourth canto of Childe Harold, which 
he began in June and completed in September. It was dedicated 
to Hobhouse, by whom the Ms. was taken to England, where it 
was published in 1818. 

This edition had the motto : — 

" Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna, 
Quel Monte che divide, e quel che serra 
Italia, 6 uuo mare e Taltro, che la bagna."i 

— Ariosto, Satira, III. 

The following was the dedicatory epistle to Hobhouse: — 

"To John Hobhouse, Esq., A.M., F.R.S., etc. 

" Venice, January 2, 1818. 
"My Dear Hobhouse: — After an interval of eight years 
between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe 
Harold, the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to 
the public. In parting with so old a friend, it is not extraordinary 
that I should recur to one still older and better, — to one who has 
beheld the birth and death of the other, and to whom I am far 
more indebted for the social advantages of an enlightened friend- 
sliip than — though not ungrateful — I can, or could be, to Childe 
Harold, for any public favour reflected through the poem or the 
poet, — to one whom I have known long and accompanied far, 
whom I have found wakeful over my sickness and kind in my sor- 

^ Motto. — I have seen Tuscany, Lombnrdy, and the Romagna, the mountain 
range that divides Italy and that which hems her in, and the one and the other sea 
that bathes her. Ariosto adds, " Questo me basta," and that suffices me. 



i 



CANTO FOURTH 241 

row, glad in my prosperity and firm in my adversity, true in counsel 
and trusty in peril, — to a friend often tried and never found v^^ant- 
ing, — to yourself. 

" In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth ; and in dedicating to 
you in its complete, or at least concluded state, a poetical work 
which is the longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my 
compositions, I wish to do honour to myself by the record of many 
years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of steadiness, and 
of honour. It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flattery ; 
yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of 
friendship ; and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve 
a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, been so much accus- 
tomed to the encounter of good-will as to withstand the shock 
firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate your good qualities, or 
rather the advantages which I have derived from their exertion. 
Even the recurrence of the date of this letter, the anniversary of 
the most unfortunate day of my existence, ^ but which cannot poison 
my future while I retain the resource of your friendship, and of my 
own faculties, will henceforth have a more agreeable recollection 
for both, inasmuch as it will remind us of this my attempt to thank 
you for an indefatigable regard, such as few men have experienced, 
and no one could experience without thinking better of his species 
and of himself. 

" It has been our fortune to traverse together, at various periods, 
the countries of chivalry, history, and fable, — Spain, Greece, Asia 
Minor, and Italy ; and what Athens and Constantinople were to us 
a few years ago, Venice and Rome have been more recently. The 
poem also, or the pilgrim, or botli, have accompanied me from first 
to last ; and perhaps it may be a pardonable vanity which induces 
me to reflect with complacency on a composition which in some 
degree connects me with the spot where it was produced, and the 
objects it would fain describe ; and however unworthy it may be 
deemed of those magical and memorable abodes, however short it 
may fall of our distant conceptions and immediate impressions, yet 
as a mark of respect for what is venerable, and of feeling for what 

1 His marriage. 



242 NOTES 

is glorious, it has been to me a source of pleasure in the production, 
and I part with it with a kind of regret, which I hardly suspected 
that events could have left me for imaginary objects. 

" With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be found 
less of the pilgrim than in any of the preceding, and that little 
slightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his own 
person. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawing a line 
which every one seemed determined not to perceive : like the Chi- 
nese in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World, whom nobody would 
believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, and imagined 
that I had drawn, a distinction between the author and the pilgrim ; 
and the very anxiety to preserve this difference, and disappointment 
at finding it unavailing, so far crushed my efforts in the composition 
that I determined to abandon it altogether — and have done so. 
The opinions which have been, or may be, formed on that subject 
are 7iow a matter of indifference ; the work is to depend on itself, 
and not on the writer ; and the author, who has no resources in his 
own mind beyond the reputation, transient or permanent, which is 
to arise from his literary efforts, deserves the fate of authors. 

" In the course of the following canto it was my intention, either 
in the text or in the notes, to have touched upon the present state 
of Italian literature, and perhaps of manners. But the text, within 
the limits I proposed, I soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth 
of external objects, and the consequent reflection ; and for the 
whole of the notes, excepting a few of the shortest, I am indebted 
to yourself, and these were necessarily limited to the elucidation of 
the text. 

" It is also a delicate, and no very grateful task, to dissert upon 
the literature and manners of a nation so dissimilar ; and requires 
an attention and impartiality which would induce us — though per- 
haps no inattentive observers, nor ignorant of the language or cus- 
toms of the people amongst whom we have recently abode — to 
distrust, or at least defer our judgment, and more narrowly exam- 
ine our information. The state of literary, as well as political 
party, appears to run, or to have run, so high that for a stranger to 
steer impartially between them is next to impossible. It may be 



CANTO FOURTH 243 

enough, then, at least for my purpose, to quote from their own 
beautiful language : ' Mi pare che in un paese tutto poetico, che 
vanta la lingua la piii nobile ed insieme la piii dolce, tutte le 
vie diverse si possono tentare, e die sinche la patria di Alfieri e 
di Monti non ha perduto V antico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe 
essere la prima.' i Italy has great names still, — Canova, Monti, 
Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Visconti, Morelli, Cicognara, Albrizzi, 
Mezzophanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, Aglietti, and Vacca,^ will secure to 
the present generation an honourable place in most of the depart- 
ments of Art, Science, and Belles Lettres ; and in some the very 
highest : Europe — the World — has but one Canova. 

'' It has been somewhere said by Alfieri that 'La pianta uomo 
nasce piu robusta in Italia che in qualunque altra terra, e che gli 
stessi atroci delitti che vi si commettono ne sono una prova.' '■^ 
Without subscribing to the latter part of his proposition, a danger- 
ous doctrine, the truth of which may be disputed on better grounds, 
namely, that the Italians are in no respect more ferocious than their 
neighbours, — that man must be wilfully blind, or ignorantly heed- 
less, who is not struck with the extraordinary capacity of this 
people, or, if such a word be admissible, their capabilUies,^ the 
facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of their conceptions, the 
fire of their genius, their sense of beauty, and, amidst all the dis- 
advantages of repeated revolutions, the desolation of battles, and 
the despair of ages, their still unquenched ' longing after immortal- 
ity,' — the immortality of independence. And when we ourselves, 

1 It seems to me that, in a country wholly poetic, which boasts a language at once 
the noblest and the sweetest, all the vai-ious ways can be tried, and that since the 
land of Alfieri and of Monti has not lost her ancient worth, in all she ought to be the 
leader. 

2 Canova, the sculptor ; Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, poets ; Visconti, 
Aglietti, Cicognara, archaeologists ; Morelli, bibliographer ; Mai, Mezzophanti, phi- 
lologists ; Madame d'Albrizzi, critic; and Vacca, physician. Mustoxidi a Greeiv. 
archjeologist who wrote in Italian. 

3 The human plant grows in Italy more strong than in any other land, the 
atrocious crimes committed there are a proof of it. 

■* Cf. Shakespeare, Hamlet, IV., iv., 38, "That capability and godlike reason," 
etc. Cf. Shelley, preface to Prometheus Unbound (1S191, "The mass of capabili- 
ties remains at every period materially the same," etc. 



244 NOTES 

in riding round the walls of Rome, heard the simple lament of the 
labourers' chorus, ' Roma ! Roma ! Roma ! Koma non h piii come 
era prima,' i it was difficult not to contrast this melancholy dirge 
with the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation still yelled from 
the London taverns over the carnage of Mont St. Jean, and the 
betrayal of Genoa, of Italy, of France, and of the world, by men 
whose conduct you yourself have exposed in a work 2 worthy of the 
better days of our history. For me, — 

" ' "N^on movero mai corda 

_Ove la tuiba di sue ciance assorda.'^ 

" What Italy has gained by the late transfer of nations it were 
useless for Englishmen to inquire, till it becomes ascertained that 
England has acquired something more than a permanent army and 
a suspended Habeas Corpus ; it is enough for them to look at home. 
For what they have done abroad, and especially in the South, 
' Verily they iclll have their reward,' and at no very distant period. 

" Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and agreeable return 
to that country whose real welfare can be dearer to none than to 
yourself, I dedicate to you this poem in its completed state ; and 
repeat once more how truly I am ever 

" Your obliged and affectionate friend, 

" Byron." 

1. 1. I stood in Venice, etc. When Byron first went to Venice, he 
wrote to Moore (December 5, 1816) : "Of Venice I shall say little. 
... It is a poetical place and classical, to us, from Shakespeare 
and Otway. I have not yet sinned against it in verse, nor do I 
know that I shall do so, having been tuneless since I crossed the 
Alps, and feeling as yet no renewal of the 'estro. '" However, 
soon came (1816-1821) this portion of Childe Harold^ the Ode on 
Venice, Beppo, Marino Faliero, and The 2\vo Foscari. 

Bridge of Sighs. Connecting the ducal palace with the state 
prisons. Cf. The Two Foscari, IV., 1 : — 

1 Rome ! Rome ! Rome ! Rome is no longer what she was. 

2 Leiierfi written by an Englishman during the Liifft Reign of Napoleon, 1816. 

3 I will never touch the lyre where the crowd deafens me with its fooleries. 



CANTO FOURTH 245 

" Unless you would pass o'er 
The Bridge which few repass." 

1. 8. the winged Lion. The Lion of St. Mark, the emblem of 
Venice. It stood on the top of the beautiful column in the Piazza 
di Saji Marco. 

I. 9. hundred isles. This is no exaggeration, as there are_1^17 
islands on which the city is built. 

II. 10-15. a sea Cybele. The sea crowned with her beautiful 
towers. Mr. John Morley says, "The matter with which Byron 
deals is gigantic, and he paints with violent colours and sweeping 
pencil." 

1. 19. Tasso's echoes, etc. " The well-known song of the gon- 
doliers, of alternate stanzas, from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died 
with the hidependence of Venice, Editions of the poem, with the 
original on one column and the Venetian variations on the other, 
as sung by the boatmen, were once common, and are still to be 
found." — Byron. 

1. 25. how Venice once was dear. Cf. "Wordsworth, Sonnet, 
On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic : — 

*' Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee, 
And was the safeguard of the West : the worth 
Of Venice did not fall below her birth, — 
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. 
She was a maiden City, bright and free ; 
No guile seduced, no force could violate ; 
And when she took unto herself a Mate, 
She must espouse the everlasting Sea. 
And what if she had seen those glories fade. 
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay: 
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 
When her long life hath reached its final day : 
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade 
Of that which once was great is passed away." 

1. 31. dogeless. No longer free, the office of Doge was abol- 
ished, 1797. 



24c6 NOTES 

1. 33. Rialto. The famous bridge across the grand canal. 
Shylock and the Moor. Cf. Merchant of Venice and Othello. 

I. 34. Pierre. A character in Otway's Venice Preserved. 

II. 37-45. The beings of the mind, etc. Cf. Browning, Abt 

Vogler : — 

" All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist ; 
Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power, 
Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist, 
When eternity affirms the conception of an hour." 

Bahhi Ben Ezra : — 

"All that is, at all, 
Lasts ever, past recall ; 

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure : 
What entered into thee 
That was, is, and shall be : 
Time's wheel runs back or stops : Potter and clay endure." 

11. 46, 47. Such is the refuge, etc. Cf. Wordsworth : — 

" So was it when my life began ; 
So is it now I am a man ; 
So be it when I shall grow old, 
Or let me die." 

Cf. Tennyson, Blerlin and the Gleam, for a history of the two 
periods, Youth and Age : — 

" Mighty the Wizard 
Who found me at sunrise 
Sleeping, and woke me 
And learn'd me Magic. 

"For thro' the Magic 
Of him the Mighty, 
Who taught me in Childhood, 
There on the border 
Of boundless Ocean, 
All but in Heaven 
Hovers the Gleam." 



CANTO FOURTH 247 

11. 64-90. I've taught me other tongues, etc. This was a fre- 
quent mood with Byron. When in England he sighed for a retreat 
hi the Cyclades ; and when away, he would ask, " Where is real 
comfort to be found out of England?" Here is a hope worthy 
of England's greatest poets, "to be remembered with my land's 
language." 

Milton said, " I applied myself to fix all the industry and art 
I could unite to the adorning of my native tongue." Wordsworth 
hoped to create something "that pure hearts would reverence." 
Browning wrote, "Here and here did England help me, — how 
can I help England ? " 

Cf. In llemoriam, XVIII. : — 

" 'Tis well; 'tis something; we may stand 
Where he iu English earth is laid, 
And from his ashes may be made 
The violet of his native land." 

I. 85. Spartan's epitaph. Byron wrote from Venice: "Some 
of the epitaphs at Ferrara pleased me more than the more splendid 
monuments at Bologna ; for instance : — 

" 'Martini Luigi 
Implora pace! ' 

" ' Liicretia Picini 

Implora eterne quiete.' 

Can anything be more full of pathos ? . . . There is all the help- 
lessness, and humble hope, and deathlike prayer, that can arise 
from the grave." 

II. 88, 89. The thorns, etc. Cf. Manfred, III., 4: — 

" The mind which is immortal makes itself 
Requital for its good and evil thouglits ; 
Is its own origin of ill and end." 
11. 91-95. The spouseless Adriatic, etc. Alluding to the Doge's 
annual custom of wedding, on Ascension Day, the Adriatic by 
throwing a ring into the sea from the state galley, the Bucentaur, 
as a sign of the maritime supremacy of Venice. Cf. Words vi^orth, 
Sonnet, in note to 1. 25, supra. 



248 NOTES 

1. 95. yet sees. For a time this Lion was in possession of the 
French in Paris. 

1. 97. an Emperor. Here, in 1177, the Emperor Frederick Barba- 
rossa ("the Suabian," 1. 100) made submission to Alexander III. 

1. 100. the Austrian reigns. Napoleon wrested Venice from 
Austria in 1805, but it was restored to her in 1814, and ceded to 
Italy in 1866. 

1. 107. Dandolo. He was elected Doge in 1192, when he was 
eighty-five. At ninety-seven he led the Venetians on a crusade for 
the capture of Constantinople, 

1. 109. steeds of brass. On St. Mark's Church. They were 
brought from Constantinople by Dandolo. They were originally 
in Rome, but were taken from there by Constantine. 

1. 111. Doria's menace. In August, 1379, when the Venetians 
were reduced to great straits by the Genoese, and offered to submit 
to any terms provided their independence was left to them, the 
Genoese commander, Peter Doria, replied, "Ye shall have no 
peace until we have first put a rein upon those unbridled horses of 
yours, which are upon the porch of your evangelist St. Mark." 

1. 113. thirteen hundred years of freedom. The foundation of 
Venice dates from the invasion of Italy by the Huns under Attila, 
A.D. 452. Cf. the Ode on Venice^ 1 : — 

" Thirteen hundred years 
Of wealth aud glory turned to dust and tears." 

1. 114. Sinks, etc. The gradual settling of Venetian buildings, 
which rest on piles. Cf. Shelley, Lines written among the Euga- 
nean Hills : — 

" Sun-girt City ! thou hast been 
Ocean's child, and then his queen; 
Now is come a darker day, 
And thou soon must be his prey. 

" when the sea-mew 
Flies, as once before it flew, 



CANTO FOURTH 249 

O'er thine isles depopulate, 
And all is in its ancient state, 
Save where many a palace-gate. 
With green sea-flowers overgrown, 
Like a rock of ocean's own, 
Topples o'er the abandoned sea. 
As the tides change sullenly." 

1. 120. The 'Planter of the Lion.' "That is, the Lion of St. 
Mark, the standard of the Republic, which is the origin of the 
word Pantaloon, — Piantaleone, Pantaleon, Pantaloon." — Byron. 
St. Pantaleone was a patron of Venice, and in time came to be an 
Italian nickname for a Venetian. Pantaloons were so called 
"because worn by Venetians." — Skeat. 

1. 123. Europe's bulwark, etc. Cf. Wordsworth, Sonnet, 
supra : — 

" Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee, 
And was the safeguard of the West." 

Ottomite. Ottoman. 

1. 124. Candia. In Crete. The Venetians defended it against 
the Turks for twenty-four years. The Greeks besieged Troy ten 
years. 

1. 125. Lepanto's fight. Cf. note on II., 356. 

1. 129. sumptuous pile. Ducal palace. 

1. 133. foreign aspects. The Austrian officers. 

I. 138. in the Attic Muse. Plutarch, in his Life of Mcias, 
relates that after the Athenians had been defeated, freedom was 
gained by some of the captives who sang from the works of 
Euripides. 

II. 147, 148. Thy choral memory, etc. Three noble poems are 
the result of Byron's musing upon these things in Venice, Ravenna, 
and Ferrara: The Ode to Venice, The Prophecy of Dante, and The 
Lament of Tasso. In the Ode he laments the decay of the ' Com- 
monwealth ' : — 

" The name of Commonwealth is past and gone 
O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe; 



250 :^OTi:s 

Venice is crush'd, and Holland deigns her own 

A sceptre, and endures the purple robe, 
If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone 
His chainless mountains, 'tis but for a time." 

He hails the new home of freedom in America — 

" Still one great clime, in full and free defiance 
Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime, 
Above the far Atlantic." 

11. 151-153. Albion, etc. Cf . Shelley, England in 1819 : — 

" Rulers, who neither see, nor feel, nor know. 
But leech-like to their fainting country cling," etc. 

11.154-171. I loved her, etc. Prof essor Nichol says : "Byron's 
Venice may be set beside the masterpieces of Ruskin's prose. 
They are together the joint pride of Italy and England." Ruskin 
says of Byron's influence on him: "He first animated mountains 
and sea for me with a sense of real human nobleness and grief. He 
taught me the meaning of Chillon and Meillerie, and bade me seek 
first in Venice the ruined homes of Foscari and Falieri. . . . He 
reanimated for me the real people whose feet had worn the marble 
I trod on." The student should study the early chapters of 
Ruskin's Proeterita for the influence of Byron, and the Modern 
Painters for the influence of Wordsworth. 

I. 158. Otway, etc. Dramas or tales, the scene of which is 
laid in Venice. Venice Preserved, Mysteries of Udolpho, Der 
Geistersehen, The Merchant of Venice, and Othello. 

II. 172-21G. But from their nature, etc. In these stanzas we 
have the chiefest revelation of life as embalmed in the amber of 
immortal verse. Cf. Wordsworth, Ode on Intimations of Immor- 
tality, for results of early impressions : — 

" O joy! that in oiir embers 

Is something that doth live. 

That Nature yet remembers 

What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction. . . . 



CANTO FOURTH 251 

. . . truths that wake 
To perish never ; 
Which neither listlessness nor mad endeavor 

Nor man nor boy- 
Can utterly abolish or destroy." 
Cf. On Seeing Peele Castle in a Storm, for effects of suffering :_ 
" I have submitted to a new control : 
A power is gone, which nothing can restore : 
A deep distress has humanized my soul." 
Cf. Tennyson, Merlin and the Gleam: — 
"Sweet the Magic 
When over the valley, 
In early summers, 
Over the mountain, 
On human faces, 
And all around me, 
Moving to melody 
Floated the Gleam." 
In Memoriam, CVIII. : — 

*' I will not shut me from my kind. 
And, lest I stiffen into stoile, 
I will not eat my heart alone. 
Nor feed with sighs a passing wind." 
Cf . Browning, Babhi Ben Ezra : ~ 
" Grow old along with me ! 
The best of life is yet to be, 
The last of life for which the first was made : 
Our times are in His hand 
Who saith * A whole I planned, 

Youth shows but half ; trust God : see all, nor be afraid ! ' " 
1. 172. tannen. Fir trees. 

1. 219. A ruin amidst ruins. Ct Manfred, U.,\. Wliere Man- 
fred IS speaking to the chamois hunter : — 

"Thy humble virtues, hospitable home. 
And spirit patient, pious, proud, and free; 
Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent thoughts 
The days of health and nights of sleep ; thy toils 



252 NOTES 

By danger dignified, yet guiltless ; hopes 

Of cheerful old age, and a quiet grave. 

This do I see, — and then I look within, 

It matters not, — my soul was scorch'd already." 

11, 235-243. The moon is up, etc. Byron's association with Shel- 
ley did much to raise and cheer his spirit, and these raptures in the 
presence of Nature are the result. Cf . llanfred, IV. : — 
"The stars are forth, the moon above the tops 
Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful! 
I linger yet with Nature, for the night 
Hath been to me a more familiar face 
Than that of man ; and in her starry shade 
Of dim and solitary loveliness 
I learned the language of another world." 

Cf. Shelley's allusion to Byron in Lines ivritten among the Euga- 

nean Hills: — 

"That a tempest-cleaving swan 
Of the songs of Albion, 
Driven from his ancestral streams 
By the might of evil dreams, 
Fouiid a nest in thee ; and Ocean 
Welcomed him with such emotion 
That its joy grew his, and sprung 
From his lips like music flung 
O'er a mighty thunder-fit, 
Chastening terror," etc. 

I. 238. Friuli's mountains. The Julian Alps. "The point of 
view is the mainland opposite Venice, where the river Brenda 
enters the sea." — Tozer. 

II. 244-261. A single star is at her side, etc. Cf. The Ancient 
Mariner^ IV. : — 

" The moving Moon went up the sky, 
And nowhere did abide : 
Softly she was going up 
And a star or two beside — " 

nuch in 
Coleridge. 



I 



CANTO FOURTH 253 

11. 262-264. Arqua, etc. A village among the Euganean Hills. 
Here, Petrarch, exiled from Florence, passed the closing years of 
his life. Wordsworth, alluding to the history of the sonnet, says : — 

" The melody 
Of the small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound." 
Petrarch's tomb is in front of the church at Arqua. 

I. 264. Laura's lover. Laura, the object of Petrarch's love, was 
a resident of Avignon. Dante's love for Beatrice, Sydney's for 
Stella, Spenser for Rosalind, and Shakespeare's for " W. H. the 
onlie begetter of the Sonnets" should be compared with that of 
Petrarch for Laura. 

II. 266-268. He arose to raise a language, etc. Dante, "the 
spokesman of ten silent centuries," Petrarch, and Boccaccio cre- 
ated and adorned the Italian language. 

1. 267. his land reclaim. Alluding to his frequent exhortations 
to Rienzi and the people to seek liberty. 

1. 269. tree. Petrarch often played upon the names of the lady 
and the tree — laurel. The line has of course a symbolic as well 
as an actual meaning. 

I. 276. mansion and sepulchre. These and his favorite fountain 
are still preserved. 

II. 278, 280. A feeling more accordant, etc. Cf. Milton, Epitaph 
on Shakespeare: — 

" What needs my Shakespeare for his honour 'd bones 
The labour of an age in piled stones," etc. 

11. 295-297. 'Tis solitude, etc. Cf. Shelley, Alastor, or the 
Spirit of Solitude : — 

" There was a Poet whose untimely tomb 
No human hands with pious reverence reared, 
But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds 
Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid 
Of mouldering leaves in the vast wilderness." 

1. 307. Ferrara. This city is near Padua on the way to 
Florence. 



254 NOTES 

I, 311. Este. The house of Este, long the rulers of Ferrara. 
Byron rented a house near Este in the Euganean Hills. Cf. 
Shelley, Lines ivritten among the Euganean Hills. 

II. 314, 315. those who wore, etc. Tasso and Ariosto. 

11. 316-336. their glory and their shame. Tasso was enamoured 
of the sister of Alfonso II., Duke of Ferrara, and was for this 
imprisoned by him as a madman in the hospital of St. Anna. 
These stanzas and The Lament of Tasso are Dantesque in their 
burning scorn of the well-fed tyrant, Byron visited the cell where 
Tasso was confined, and wrote, " It attracts a more fixed attention 
than the residence or the monument of Ariosto — at least it had 
this effect for me." 

" They call'd me mad — and why? 

Leonora ! wilt not thou reply ? 

1 was indeed delirious in my heart 
To lift my love so lofty as thou art ; 
But still my frenzy was not of the rnind, 
I knew my fault and felt my punishment, 
Not less because I suffer it unbent. 

■ That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind, 

Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind." 

— Lament of Tasso. 

1. 339. Cruscan quire. The Academy della Crusca of Florence, 
which censured Tasso's Gerusalemme. 

I. 340. Boileau. The French critic who attacked the public 
taste for its enjoyment of Tasso. 

II. 355-360. Bards. Dante and Ariosto ; Scott, Ariosto ; Ari- 
osto of the North, Scott. 

1. 361. lightning. The bust of Ariosto which surmounted the 
tomb was struck by lightning not long before it was removed to 
the library of Ferrara. 

1. 370. Italia, Italia ! etc. Byron says that this stanza and 
the next are a translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja : — 

"Italia, Italia, o tu, cui feo la sorte 
Douo iufelice di bellezza, oud' hai. 



1 



CANTO FOURTH 255 

Funesta dote d' infiniti guai, 

Che in f route scritti pei\grau doglia porte: 

Deh ! fossi tu men bella, o almen piii forte ; 
Onde assai piu ti paventasse, o assai 7 

T' amasse men, clii del tuo bello ai rai 
Par die si strngga, e pur ti sfida a morte. 

Che giu dall' Alpi non vedrei torrenti 
Scender d' armati, ne di sangue tinta 
Bever 1' onda del Po gallici armeuti, 

Ne ti vedrei del non tuo ferro cinta 
Pugnar col braccio di straniere genti, 
Per servir sempre, o vincitrice, o vinta." 

Cf. The Prophecy of Dante: — 

" Thou Italy! so fair that Paradise 
Revived in thee blooms forth to man restored." 

Mr. Aubrey de Vere in his Becollections says, " When pretty 
well advanced on the descent, we all suddenly exclaimed, ' Italy ! ' 
and saw the Italian sun flashing on Italian vegetation, and knew 
that in an another hour we should be on the land of the vine and 
the maize, of the orange grove and the lemon grove." 

1. 389. Roman friend, etc. Servius Sulpicius, who wrote to 
Cicero to condole with him on ttie death of his daughter Ttdlia, 
compares human bereavements to the loss of national life. 

1. 406. That page. Cicero, Epist. ad Fam. 

1. 418. our guardian. A fine tribute to the influence of the early 
church. Cf. De Vere, Legends of Saxon Saints, "King Ethel- 
bert of Kent and St. Augustine." 

1. 425. Etrurian Athens. Florence on the Arno is the home of 
arts, as Athens was once. Cf . Mrs. Oliphant, Makers of Florence ; 
Browning, Old Pictures in Florence: — 

" And mark through the winter afternoons, 
By a gift God grants me now and then, 
In the mild decline of those suns like moons, 
Who walked in Florence besides her men. 



256 NOTES 

" One, wishful each scrap should clutch the brick, 
Each tinge not wholly escape the plaster, 
A lion who dies of aii ass's kick, 
The wronged great soul of an ancient Master." 

11. 428, 429. Her corn, and wine, etc. Cf. The Prophecy of 
Dante : — 

*' Thou Italy! whose ever golden fields, 
Plough'd by the sunbeams solely, would suffice 
For the world's granary." 

1. 448. paltry jargon. Of those who sell statuary. 

1. 450. prize. Alluding to the award by Paris of the golden 
apple to Venus. 

1. 452. more deeply blest Anchises. ^neas was the sou of 
Venus and Anchises. 

1. 454. Lord of War. Mars, the Roman god of war, who took 
the place of Ares, the lover of Venus. 

1. 463. and man's fate has moments, etc. Cf. Arnold, Sonnet, 
Written on Emerson's Essays : — 

" Strong is the soul and wise and beautiful; 
The seeds of godlike power are in us still ; 
Gods are we, bards, saints, heroes, if we will! 
Dumb judges, censurers, truth or mockery? " 

1. 470. ape. Imitator. 

1. 472. The graceful bend, etc. Cf. Browning, Old Pictures in 
Florence : — 

" You would fain be kinglier, say, than I am ? 
Even so, you will not sit like Theseus." 

1. 478. Santa Croce. Byron called this church " the Westminster 
Abbey of Italy." 

11.484-486. Angelo's. Michael Angelo's. Byron says :" Alfieri 
is the great name of this age. His memory is the more dear to 
them because he is the bard of freedom ; and because, fis such, 
his tragedies can receive no countenance from any of their sover- 
eigns." 



CANTO FOURTH 257 

1. 485. with his woes. Referring to the persecution he suffered 
from the Inquisition on account of his scientific views. 

1. 486. Machiavelli. The eminent historical and political writer. 

1. 495. Canova. This famous sculptor was living when Byron 
wrote this. 

1. 498. bard of Prose. Boccaccio, author of the Decameron. 

1. 505. Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar. In Ravenna. 
Cf. The Prophecy of Dante : — 

" She denied me what was mine — my roof, 
And shall not have what is not hers — my tomb." 

1. 506. Like Scipio. He was buried near the sea at Liternum, 
where he went into voluntary exile. 

1. 511. Petrarch's laureate brow. Petrarch was crowned in the 
Capitol at Rome. 

1. 512. Upon a far and foreign soil. Petrarch's father was ban- 
ished from Florence not long after his son's birth. 

1. 513. though rifled. The tomb of Petrarch was desecrated in 
1630. 

1.514. Boccaccio to his parent earth, etc. "Boccaccio was 
buried in the church of St. Michael and St. James at Certaldo, a 
small town in the Valdelsa. . . . But the ' hysena bigots ' of Cer- 
taldo tore up the tombstone of Boccaccio, and ejected it from the 
holy precincts." — Byron. 

1. 525. Caesar's pageant, etc. At the funeral of Junia, the wife 
of Cassius and sister of Brutus, the busts of these men who took 
part in the assassination of Csesar were not allowed to be carried in 
the procession. 

1. 532. pyramid. The splendid tombs of the Medici. Byron 
calls them "fine frippery of great slabs." 

1. 542. Arno's dome. The Florentine gallery. It is worth 
noting here that Byron at this time sat for his bust to Thorwaldsen. 



2bS NOTES 

The marble statue by Thorwalclsen is now in the library of Trinity 
College, Cambridge. It was intended for Westminster Abbey. 

1. 543. sister. Painting. 

1. 551. defiles. The Romans were cut off by Hannibal in the 
pass between the mountains and the lake. 

1, 563. An earthquake, etc. This is the report of Livy. 

1, 586. Clitumnus. One of the tributaries of the Tiber. It is 
famous in pastoral poetry. Cf. Virgil, Georgic, II. 

1. 590. milk-white steer. Cf. Macaulay, Lays of Ancient 
Home : — 

" Un watched along Clitumnus 
Grazes the milk-white steer." 

1. 614. Velino. The waterfall of Terni is formed by this tribu- 
tary of the Tiber. 

1. 620. Phlegethon. A river of the lower regions. 
1. 653. lauwine. Avalanche. 

1. 654. Jungfrau. The mountain inaccessible, of the Bernese 
Alps. Cf. 31aufred. 

1. 657. Chimari. Cf. Note, Canto II., 453. 
1. 658. Acroceraunian. Hills of thunder. 

I. 666. lyric Roman's aid. Horace. Cf. Ode I. 

II. 672-693. I abhorred, etc. The university teaching at Cam- 
bridge was ridiculed by Wordsworth. Cf. Prelude, III.: — 

"Mine eyes were crossed by butterflies, ears vexed 
By chattering popinjays ; the inner heart 
Seemed trivial, aud the impresses without 
Of a too gaudy region." 

1. 690. prescribe his art. Cf. Horace, Ars Poetica. 
1. 707. Scipio's tomb. Discovered near the Appian Way in] 
1780. The bones were carried off. 

1. 715. steep. The ascent of the Capitoline Hill. 



CANTO FOURTH 259 

11. 740-742. Sylla, etc. He began the war against Mithyidates 
without waiting to gain the results of his victory over Marius. 

1. 758. Cromwell. Cf. Milton, Sonnet, To the Lord General 
Cromwell. 

1. 764. day of double victory and death. "On the 3d of Sep- 
tember Cromwell gained the victory of Dunbar ; a year afterward 
he obtained 'his crowning mercy ' of Worcester ; and a few years 
after, on the same day, which he had ever esteemed the most 
fortunate for him, died." — Byron. 

1 775. statue. Of Pompey in the Spada palace. It is sup- 
posed to be the one at the base of which Caesar fell. 

1. 781. Nemesis. Retribution. 

1. 784. thunder-stricken nurse. The famous bronze wolf of the 
Capitoline Museum is thought to be the one which Cicero alluded 
to as having been struck by lightning. Cf. Gratia in Catilinam, 
III., 8. 

1. 786. dome. The Museum of the Capitol. 

1. 800. vain man. Napoleon, 

1. 809. Alcides. Hercules, who became a slave of Omphale, 
was dressed like a maiden and spun wool. 

1. 846. Their fellows fall, etc. Mr. John Morley says of the 
above stanzas, " We hardly feel how great a poet Byron was 
until we have read him at Venice, at Florence, and, above all, in 
that overpowering scene where the ' lone mother of dead empires ' 
broods like a mysterious haunting spirit among the columns and 
arches and wicked fabrics of Rome." 

1. 859. Pallas. Who sprang full armed from the head of Jove. 

1. 863. Washington. Cf. Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte: — 

" Where may the wearied eye repose 
When gazing on the Great ; 
Where neither guilty glory glows 
Nor despicable state ? 



260 NOTES 

" Yes — one — the first — the last — the best, 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 
Whom envy dared not hate, 
Bequeath the name of Washington, 
To make man blush there was but one." 

Cf. Don Juan, IX., 8 : — 

" George Washington had thanks and nought beside, 

Except the all cloudless glory (which few men's is) 

To free his country." 

11. 865-873. But France got drunk, etc. Cf. Coleridge Ode to 

France : — 

" The sensual and the dark rebel in vain, 
Slaves by their own compulsion. In mad game 
They burst their manacles and wear the name 
Of Freedom graven on a heavier chain." 

1. 880. the sap lasts. Cf . The Giaour : — 

" For Freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, 
Though baffled oft, is ever won." 

the North. England. 

tower. The tomb of Csecilia Metella on the Appian 



1. 


881. 


1. 


883. 

■J 


1. 


884. 


1. 


904. 



fortress. It was once used as a fortress. 
Cornelia. Mother of the Gracchi. 
1. 905. Egypt's graceful queen. Cleopatra. 
1. 917. Hesperus. The hectic light upon the cheek is the har- 
binger of death, as Hesperus is of evening. 

I. 918. autumnal leaf-like red. Cf. Manfred, II., 4 : — 

" There's bloom upon her cheek ; 
But now I see it is no living hue, 
But a strange hectic — like the unnatural red 
Which Autumn plants upon the perished leaf." 

II. 928-931. standing thus by thee, etc. Cf. Coleridge, Religious 
Musings : — 



CANTO FOURTH 261 

" 'Tis the sublime of man, 
Our noontide majesty, to know ourselves 
Parts and proportions of one wondrous whole ! 
This fi-aternizes man." 

11. 942-945. Where all lies foundered, etc. Byron must face 
the past, and as it becomes more and more real, he seeks repose 
in the life of imagination here in Rome. Arnold says in Baccha- 
nalia : — 

" The world but feels the present's spell, 
The poet feels the past as well ; 
AVhatever men have done, might do, 
Whatever thought, might think it too." 

1. 963. Mount. The Palatine. 

1. 983. column. A solitary column in the Forum, now thought 
to have been erected in honor of the Emperor Phocas, 608. 

1. 987. Titus or Trajan's. Arch of Titus, or Pillar of Trajans. 
Cf. Wordsworth, The Pillar of Trajan. 

1. 989. apostolic statues. A statue of St. Peter now stands on 
the Pillar of Trajan, and one of St. Paul on that of M. Aurelius. 

1. 990. whose ashes. It was once thought that in the globe 
which the statue held were deposited the ashes of Trajan. 

1. 995. Roman globe. The Roman Empire — orhis veteribus 
notus. 

1. 998. blood and wine. Alexander excited by wine killed his 
friend Clitus at a banquet. 

1. 999. Trajan's name adore. Cf. Dante, Purgatory, X. : — 

" The exalted glory of the Roman prince, 
Whose mighty worth mov'd Gregory 
To earn his mighty conquest, Trajan the Emperor." 

1. 1000. the rock of Triumph. Capitoline Hill. 

1. 1001. embraced. Welcomed home. 

1. ijOS. Tarpeian. The rock from which criminals were 
hurled. 



202 NOTES 

1. 1004. promontory. 'J'liis was a remedy for treason as the 
Leucadian promontory was for hopeless love. Cf. Canto II., 362. 

1. 1017. venal voice. Paid oratory, political corruption. 

1. 1022. Rienzi. He led an insurrection against the nobles in 
1347, and was made tribune. 

1. 1026. Numa. The lawgiver, Numa Pompilius. 

1. 1027. Egeria. The nymph who aided Numa in wisdom and 
law. Cf. Tennyson, Palace of Art : — 

" Or hollowing one hand against his ear 
To list a footfall, ere he saw 
The wood-nympli, stay'd the Ausonian king to hear 
Of wisdom and of law." 

1. 1036. fountain. The grotto of Egeria, near the southern 
gate of Rome. 

1. 1057. purple Midnight. Tozer says this suggests mystery 
and warmth of feeling. 

1. 1081. Oh Love, no habitant of earth, etc. Cf. Coleridge, 
Love : — 

" All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame." 

I. 1107. Seems never near the prize. Mr. John Morley says, 
" This melancholy and despondent reaction is the revolutionary 
course — the product of the mental and social conditions of 
Western P^urope at the close of the eighteenth century." 

II. 1108-1116. We wither, etc. Cf. Manfred: — 

" There is an order 
Of mortals on the earth who do become 
Old in their youth, and die ere middle age, 

Some of withered or of broken hearts ; 

For tins last is a malady which slays 

More than are numbered in tbe lists of Fate, -u 

Taking all shapes and bearing many names." 



CANTO FOURTH 263 

1. 1147. Coliseum. The Flavian Ampliitheatre, built for spec- 
tacles and gladiatorial shows. 

I. 1181. Nemesis. This idea of retribution was the revelation 
of Greek tragedy under ^schylus. 

II. 1183, 1184. the Furies . . . Orestes. Cf. ^schylus, Eu- 
me nicies : — 

" Witnesses of those who perish, 
Coming to exact blood forfeit, 
We appear to work completeness." 

11. 1214, 1215. Because not altogether of such clay, etc. Mr. 
John Morley says, "It is a good thing thus to overthrow the 
tyranny of the memory, and to cast out the body of our dead 
selves." Between this stanza and the next the Ms. had the 
following : — 

" If to forgive be heaping coals of fire — 

As God hath spoken — on the heads of foes, 

Mine should be a volcano, and rise higher 

Than, o'er the Titans crushed, Olympus rose, 

Or Athos soars, or blazing Etna glows : — 

True, they who stung were creeping things; but what 

Than serpent's teeth inflicts with deadlier throes? 

The lion may be goaded by the gnat. — 
Who seeks the slumberer's blood? The eagle ? No, the bat." 

11. 1225-1230. But I have lived, etc. The rage of the early 
cantos has given place, first, to melancholy, but now to hope — 
that spirit of Prometheus whom earth and heaven could not 
convulse. Cf. Wordsworth, Tennyson, and Browning : — 

" While blossoms and the budding spray 
Inspire us in our own decay ; 
Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark goal, 
Be hopeful spring the favorite of the soul." 

— Ode to Lycoris. 

" That which we are, we are ; 
One equal temper of heroic hearts, 
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." — Ulysses. 



264 NOTES 

" Never doubt clouds will break, 
Never dream, thoiigli right be worsted wrong will triumph, 
Hold we fall to rise, are bafiled to fight better, 
Sleep to wake." — La Sasias. 

Cf. Hebrew 3felodies : — 

" When coldness wraps this suffering clay, 
Ah, whither strays the immortal mind? 
It cannot die, it cannot stray, 
But leaves its darken 'd dust behind." 

Cf. Clough, i7bj9e evermore and Believe. 

I. 1234. dread power. Byron's welcome to the influence of the 
spirit of the past shows that a life of action has been changed to 
one of reflection. Years have brought the philosophic mind, and 
with it calm to take the place of wild unrest. Among the mar- 
ginalia in the Sumner Collection of Ossian's works (library of 
Harvard University), written by Byron at the age of eighteen, 
there is an allusion to old bard's melancholy. After underscoring 
the following passage in Carthon : " Why dost thou build the hall, 
son of the winged days ? Thou lookest from thy towers to-day ; 
yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes ; it howls in thy 
empty court, and whistles thy half- worn shield," Byron adds, 
"This striking and beautiful sentiment is the natural dictate of 
that contemplative disposition, united with that melancholy, which 
distinguishes every great genius." 

II. 1252-1266. I see before me, etc. In this description of the 
famous statue is a splendid illustration of Kuskin's "imagination 
penetrative." It reveals the heart of poignant human pathos with 
a rapidity and breadth which is Dantesque. Ruskin, in speaking of 
this peculiarity in Byron, says: "That passage is noble primarily 
because it contains the utmost number that will come together 
into the space of absolutely just, wise, and kind thoughts. But it 
is more than noble ; it is perfect, because the quantity it holds 
not artificially or intricately concentrated, but with the serene 
swiftness of a smith's hammer-strokes on hot iron." —^I^'-^tsrita^ 
chapter viii. Arnold selects 11, 1261, 1262 as illustrat:ve of 



CANTO FOURTH 265 

Byron's "strong and deep sense for what is beautiful in human 
action and suffering," and says, "of verse of this high quality 
Byron has nuich." 

1. 1266. Dacian mother. Dacia was noted for the warlike 
character of its people, and when they were captured were forced 
to fight in the amphitheatre. Cf. The Deformed Transformed : — 
" Made even the forest pay its tribute of 
Life to their amjihitheatre, as well 
As Dacia men to die the eternal death 
For a sole instant's pastime, and ' Pass on 
To a new gladiator! ' " 

I. 1269, Arise ! ye Goths. Byron looks upon the Goths as the 
messengers of Nemesis, to bring a natural retribution for Roman 
folly. Cf. Charles Kingsley, The Boman and the Teuton. 

II. 1279, 1280. from its mass, etc. This is no exaggeration, as 
the ruins have furnished material for the new buildings in Rome. 

11. 1288-1292. But when the rising moon, etc. "Byron wrote 
as easily as the hawk flies, and as clearly as the lake reflects, the 
exact truth in the precisely narrowest terms ; nor only the exact 
truth, but the most central and useful one. ... Of all things 
within the range of human thought he felt the facts, and dis- 
cerned the natures with accurate justice.'" — Ruskin, FrcBterita, 
chapter viii. 

Cf. Manfred, IV. : — 

" Upon such a night 
I stood within the Coliseum's wall. 
Midst the chief relics of Almighty Rome ; 
The trees which grew along the broken arches 
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars 
Shone through the rents of ruin." 

1. 1292. The garland-forest, etc. This line suggests Words- 
worth's — 

" And on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay, 
The flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing." 
or 

" See how the ivy clasps the sacred ruin, 
Fall to prevent or beautify decay." 



266 NOTES 

I. 1293. Like laurels, etc. "Suetonius informs us that Julius 
Csescar was particularly gratified by that decree of the senate which 
enabled him to wear a wreath of laurel on all occasions. He was 
anxious, not to show that he was the conqueror of the world, but 
to hide that he was bald," — Bykon. 

II. 1297-1299. 'While stands,' etc. Gibbon quotes this in the 
Decline and Fall as what the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims to Rome said 
in the early eighth century. 

1. 1307. Shrine of all saints. The Pantheon. S. Maria ad 
Marty res. Mr. Aubrey de Vere in his Legends of Saxon Saints 
has reproduced for us the early days of Christianity in England, 
as related to Whitby, Carlisle, Canterbury, etc. 

1. 1324. There is a dungeon, etc. In the church of S. Nicole 
in Carcere at Rome, there is a cell called " Caritas Romana," 
which legend says was the scene of the act which Byron describes 
in this and the following three stanzas. 

1. 1351. The starry fable. The Greek myth says that Her- 
cules after he was born of Alcmene was taken by Hermes and 
placed at the breast of Hera while she was asleep ; when she 
awoke she pushed him away, and the milk that was spilled 
produced the Milky Way. 

1. 1359. as our freed souls, etc. Cf. Tennyson, In Memoriam, 
XLVII. : — 

•' That each, who seems a separate whole, 
Should move his rounds, and fusing all 
The skirts of self again, should fall 
Remerging in the general soul, 

Is faith as vague as all unsweet." 
1. 1300. the mole. The mausoleum of Hadrian. It is now 
the castle of St. Angelo. 

1. 1363. travelled phantasy. Hadrian had travelled throug 
greater part of the Roman Empire. 

1. 1369. the dome. St. Peter's at Rome. 

1. 1370. Diana's marvel. The temple of Diana at Ephesus. 



CANTO FOURTH 267 

I. 1375. Sophia's bright roofs. The mosque of St. Sophia at 
Constantinople. 

1. 1377. usurping Moslem. Cf. II., 749. 

1. 1381. Zion's desolation. The destruction of the Temple at 
Jerusalem by Titus. 

I. 1394. See thy God, etc. For an illustration of Byron's 
religious belief the student should compare Canto II., 34, 64, 65, 
350, 351, 922; III., 669, 670, 1011, 1012; IV, 300-304, 841, 847, 
1393, 1394. Cf. Tennyson, Crossing the Bar: — 

" For though from out our bourne of Time and Place 
The flood may bear me far, 
I hope io see my Pilot face to face 
When I have crost the bar." 

What Emerson says in his essay. The Over-soul, has its illustra- 
tion in Byron. "There is a difference," he says, "between one 
and another hour of life in their authority and subsequent effect. 
Our faith comes in moments ; yet there is a depth in those 
brief moments which constrains us to ascribe more reality to 
them than to all other experiences." 

" Out from the heart of Nature rolled 

The burdens of the Bible old ; 

The litanies of nations came, 

Like the volcano's tongue of flame, 

Up from the burning core below, — 

The canticles of love and woe. 

The hand that rounded Peter's dome. 

And groined the aisles of Christian Rome 

Wrought in a sad sincerity; 

Himself from God he could not free ; 

He budded better than he knew, — 

The conscious stone to beauty grew." 

— Emerson, The Problem. 

II. 1421, 1422. Till, growing with its growth, etc. Cf. The 
Prisoner of Chillon, for another effect of surroundings : — 

" My very Chains and I grew friends, 
So much a long communion tends 
To make us what we are." 



268 NOTES 

11. 1429-1431. The fountain of sublimity. The revelation here 
is fundamental in education. The element of environment, the 
unconscious in our growth, should be made more of. President 
EUot recently said, "The immense product of the imagination in 
art and literature is a concrete fact with which every educated 
human being should be made somewhat familiar." It is for this 
idea that Ruskin has so nobly contended for a half century. John 
Stuart Blackie used to say that for the purposes of true living, a 
memory well stored with texts was less advantageous than an 
imagination decorated with heroic pictures. 

11. 1433-1435. Laocoon's torture, etc. Cf. JEneid, II., 201 fol. 
Lessing's Laocoon, presents a study of this fj^mous group. Cf. 
Arnold's Epilogue to Lessing^s Laocoon : — 

" And after we awhile had gone 
In Lessing's track, and tried to see 
.What painting is, what poetry -r— 
Diverging to another thought 
' Ah ! ' cries my friend ; ' but who hath taught 
Why music and the other arts 
Oftener perform aright their parts 
Thau Poetry?'" 

1.1441. Lord of the unerring bow. Apollo Belvidere. 

1. 1445. shaft. According to modern critics, Apollo carries in 
his left hand an segis, not a bow. After reading these splendid 
tributes to ancient art, the student should turn to William Morris, 
Hopes and Fears for Art. He says: "Ancient art, the art of 
unconscious intelligence which began without a date, is all but 
dead. You look into your history books to see who built West- 
minster Abbey, who built St. Sophia at Constantinople, and they 
will tell you Henry III., Justinian the emperor. Did they? or 
rather men like you and me, who have left no names behind them, 
nothing but their work ? Art is the expression of man's delight in 
what he does." 

1. 1468. But where is he, etc. We have seen that in these last 
two cantos Byron frankly identifies himself with the Childe. 



CANTO FOURTH 269 

Since III., 495, he has spoken in his own person, as it is no longer 
possible to act a part, because his joy and sorrow, his interest in 
man and nature, have become intensified in volume and energy. 

11. 1471-1494. He is no more, etc. The feeling here is that of 
Manfred (I., 4) upon the mountain of Jungfrau. He has reached 
the summit of his ascent in this story, and from it he takes a last 
lingering glance into the abyss out of which he has emerged, and 
into which he must sink. 

" How beautiful is all this visible world! 
How glorious in its action aud itself ! 
But we, who uarae ourselves its sovereigns, we 
Half dust, half deity, alike unfit 
To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make 
A conflict of its elements." 

For a contrast to the despondency of Byron, see Bryant's 

Thanatopsis : — 

" So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, which moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Then go not like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave. 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, aud lies down to pleasant dreams." 

For a noble optimism of one whose prophet eye in an age of 
science caught a glory slowly gaining on the shade, see Tennyson's 
The Making of Man : — 

" Where is one that born of woman altogether can escape 
From the lower world within him, moods of tiger and of ape? 
Man as yet is being made, and ere the crowning Age of ages 
Shall not aeon after ?eon pass and touch him into shape? " 

Shelley says of Byron in Julian and 3Iaddalo : — 
" Most wretched men 
Are cradled into poetry by wrong ; 
They learn in suiferiuo; what they teach in song." 



270 NOTES 

11. 1495-1548. Hark — forth from the abyss, etc. These noble 
stanzas reveal how close after all was England and her welfare to 
the heart of Byron. The death of Princess Charlotte, May IG, 
1817, on the birth of her child, had moved all English people 
and lovers of womanly intelligence and womanly virtue every- 
where. She was the daughter of George IV., and wife of Prince 
Leopold of Saxe-Coburg. Cf. Milton, An Epitaph on the Mar- 
chioness of Winchester : — 

" After this, thy travail sore, 
Sweet rest seize thee evermore, 
That to give the world increase 
Shortened hast thy own life's lease! " 

1. 1536. the strange fate, etc. "Mary died on the scaffold; 
Elizabeth of a broken heart ; Charles V. a hermit ; Louis XIV. a 
bankrupt in means and glory ; Cromwell of anxiety ; and, ' the 
greatest is behind,' Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these sov- 
ereigns a long but superfluous list might be added of names equally 
illustrious and unhappy." — Byron. 

1. 1549. Lo, Nemi. The poet now takes his stand on the sum- 
mit of the Alban Hills, from whence he gets a fine view of the sea. 
Nemi is the lake cradled in a crater of the mountains where it is 
free from the fierce gales of the coast. Byron says, " The lake of 
Nemi lies in a very deep bottom, so surrounded on all sides with 
mountains and groves that the surface of it is never ruffled with 
the least breath of wind, which, perhaps, together with the clear- 
ness of the water, gave it formerly the name of Diana's Looking- 
glass, ' speculumque Dian^e.' " Cf. Wordsworth: — 

" Full many a spot 
Of hidden beauty have I caused to espy 
Among the mountains ; never one like this 
So lonesome, and so perfectly secure." — Excursion. 

" There sometimes doth a leaping fish 
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer, 
The crags repeat the raven's croak 
In symphony austere." — Fidelity. 



CANTO FOURTH 271 

I. 1558. Albano's scarce divided waves. A similar lake in the 
neighboring valley. 

II. 1561-1566. ' Arms and the man.' Virgil's JSneid, I., " Arma 
virumque cano," etc. 

"The whole declivity of the Alban Hill (Monte Cavo) is of 
unrivalled beauty, and from the convent on the highest point, 
which has succeeded to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the pros- 
pect embraces all the objects alluded to in this stanza ; the whole 
scene of the latter half of the ^neid, and the coast from beyond 
the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circseum and the Cape 
of Terracina. The site of Cicero's villa may be supposed either at 
the Grotta Ferrata or at the Tusculum of Prince Lucien Bona- 
parte. . . . From the same eminence are seen the Sabine Hills, 
embosomed in which lies the long valley of Rustica. There are 
several circumstances which tend to establish the identity of this 
valley with the Ustica of Horace." — Bykon. 

1. 1566. Sabine farm. Cf. Horace, Book II., Ode XII. : — 

" Simple and true I share with all 
The treasures of a kindly mind ; 
And in my cottage poor and small 

The great a welcome find. 
I vex not gods, nor patron friend, 

For larger gifts, or ampler store ; 
My modest Sabine farm can lend 
All that I want and more." 
— Odes of Horace, trans, by Sir Stephen E. de Vere. 

1. 1571. midland ocean. The Mediterranean. 

1.1574. Calpe's rock. Gibraltar. Cf. II., 190. 

1. 1576. blue Symplegades. Two islands at the entrance of 
the Black Sea from the Bosphorus. 

1. 1585. Oh ! that the Desert were my dwelling-place. Pro- 
fessor Nichol says : " Byron's genius could not have revelled among 
the daisies of Chaucer, or pastured by the banks of the Doon or 
the Ouse. He had a sincere, if somewhat exclusive, delight in the 



272 NOTES 

storms and crags. There is no affectation in the expression of this 
wish." 

I. 1591. such a being. Cf. Manfred, II., 2 ; The Witch of the 
Alps : — 

" Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow, 
Wherein is glass'd serenity of soul, 
Which of itself shows immortality," etc. 

Cf . Wordsworth, Hart Leap Well : — 

" The Being that is in the clouds and air, 
That is in the green leaves among the groves, 
Maintains a deep and reverential care 
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves." 

II. 1594-1602. There is a pleasure, etc. Of this stanza Mr. 
John Morley says : "It was this which made Byron a social force, 
a far greater force than Shelley either has been or can be. Men 
read in each page that he was one of like passions with themselves ; 
that he had their own feet of clay, if he had other members of brass 
and gold and fine silver which they had none of ; and that vehe- 
ment sensibility — tenacious energy of imagination, a bounding 
swell of poetic fancy — had not obliterated, but had rather quick- 
ened, the sense of the highest kind of man of the world, which did 
not decay, but waxed stronger in him with years." The height of 
happiness to which Byron rises here is Wordsworthian. For the 
secret of Wordsworth's happiness as interpreted by Coleridge, cf. 
Coleridge, Ode to Dejection. 

11. 1603-1656. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, etc. 
With these noble stanzas, whose might and majesty can perish 
only with the language, the student should read Wordsworth' 
Tintern Abbey, Shelley's Ode to the West Wind, and Bryant' 
Thanatopsis. 

1. 1648. and my joy, etc. Byron was proud of his ability as a^ 
swimmer. He once swam across the Hellespont, and again fro 
Lido to Venice and the length of the Grand Canal. Of the latte 
feat he writes in a letter to Murray : "I had been in th 
water, by my watch, without help or rest, and never touchin; 



1 



CANTO FOURTH 273 

ground or boat, four hours and twenty minutes. I am sure that 
I could have continued two hours longer, though I had on a 
pair of trousers, an accoutrement which by no means assists the 
performance." 

I. 1656. as I do here. Byron has changed his position from the 
Alban mount to the ocean. 

II. 1657-1661. my task is done, etc. Arnold, in speaking of 
Wordsworth and Byron, says, " When the year 1900 is turned, 
and our nation comes to recount her poetic glories in the century 
which has then just ended, the first names with her will be these." 

1. 1673. sandal-shoon and scallop-shell. The former indicated 
pilgrimage by land ; the latter, which was worn in the hat, by sea. 
Cf. Hamlet, IV., v., 23: — 

" How should I your true love know 
From another one ? 
By his cockle hat and staff, 
And his sandal shoon." 

"The poem is a glorified guide-book ; but it is something more, 
for in the person of his hero Byron creates a type which represents 
modern romance, modern melancholy (when the Revolutionary 
passions remained unsatisfied and the Revolutionary faiths were 
obscured), and, with these, the capacities for wide and varied 
pleasure proper to a time of culture, of travel, of cosmopolitan 
sympathies and interests." — Edward Dowden. 

" The third and fourth cantos placed him on the platform of the 
Dii Majores of English verse. These cantos are separated from 
their predecessors, not by a stage, but by a gulf. Previous to their 
publication, he had only shown how far the force of rhapsody 
could go ; now he struck with his right hand and from the shoul- 
der. Knowledge of life and study of Nature were the mainsprings 
of a growth which the indirect influence of Wordsworth and the 
happy companionship of Shelley played their part in fostering." — 
John Nichol. 

''The vein of meditation is richer (in the last two cantos), 
deeper, more dignified in utterance. The personal emotion of the 

T 



274 NOTES 

poet, saddened and elevated by his cruel experience of life, finds 
vent in larger harmonies and more impassioned bursts of elo- 
quence." — J. A. Symonds. 

" It is a pity that Byron was not invariably a scrupulous literary 
artist, that he wrote so much, and that almost everything he wrote 
was published. But, when all this has been said, it remains a solid 
and immovable truth that Byron was a great poet, and that he con- 
tinues to be a great power in the literature and life of the world. 
Nobody who pretends to anything omits to read C/iilde Harold.'''' — 
William Winter. 

The story of Byron's remaining years is a short one, and full of 
dramatic intensity of action and passion. Shelley returned to the 
Continent in 1818, and in August visited Byron at Venice. The 
result of this was that Shelley wrote Julian and 3Iaddalo, which 
Mr. Rossetti calls the most perfect specimen in the language of 
"poetical treatment of ordinary things." Liiies among the Euga- 
nean Hills were written during the autumn while Shelley occupied 
Byron's villa at Este. Here again Shelley pays tribute to Byron. 
They were visited by Moore at La Mira, and with him went to 
Venice. In 1820 and 1821 Byron lived at Ravenna. Don Juan 
was then being published ; and the poet was actively engaged in 
his historical dramas, Marino Faliero, The Two Foscari, Sar- 
danapalus, and Cain. That celebrated parody, P^szow o/J'itdg'^Tiewf, 
and the bitter and absurd Deformed Transformed followed. He then 
took part with the Carbonari, of whom he was appointed chief. 

For ten months Byron lived at Pisa, and the two poets led a 
somewhat Bohemian life. In 1822 Captain Trelawny joined the 
party, and Byron was visited by his greatest grief in the death of 
Shelley by drowning. He then left Pisa for Genoa, where he com- 
pleted Do7i Juan. " Having exhausted all other sources of vitality 
and intoxication," says Professor Nichol, — "travel, gallantry, and 
verse, — it remained for the despairing poet to become a hero." 



"Through life's road so dim and dirty, 
I have dragged to three and thirty. 
What have these years left to me ? 
Nothing, except thirty-three." 



3 



CANTO FOUBTH 275 

With these feelings, he joined the expedition to Greece. His vessel 
was conducted out of the harbor by convoys sent from the Ameri- 
can fleet as a tribute to the poet. He died at Missolonghi, April 
19, 1824. He was brought to England and buried in the old church 
at Hucknall-Torkard. 

" May all the devastating force be spent, 
Or all thy godlike energies lie shent? 
Nay, thou art founded in the Strength Divine ; 
The Soul's immense eternity is thine." 

— Hon. Roden Noel. 

The admiration which Goethe had for Byron is revealed in the 
fact that Euphorion, the Spirit of Poetry in Faust, Part II., Act iii., 
is the representative of Byron. Goethe says: "I had intended, 
formerly, an entirely different conclusion to the Helena. . . . 
Then time brought me Byron and Missolonghi, and I let all else 
go." The Dirge is a lament on the death of Byron, and reveals 
the deep impression which the news of his death created m Europe. 
The first stanza is as follows : — 

" Not alone ! where'er thou bidest; 

For we know thee what thou art. 
Ah ! if from the day thou hidest, 

Still to thee will cliug each heart. 
Scarce we venture to lament thee, 

Singing, envious of thy fate ; 
For in storm and sun were lent thee 

Song and courage, fair and great." 



REFERENCES 



Arnold, M., Essays in Criticism (2d series). 
Castelar, E., Life of Lord Byron (trans, by Mrs. Arthur Arnold). 
Clarke, Charles and Mary, Itecollections of Writers. 
Dallas, R. C, llecollections of the Life of Lord Byron. 
Dawson, G., Biographical Lectures. 
Dawson, W. J., 3Iakers of Modern English. 
De Quincey, Beminiscences. 

Dowden, E., The French Bevolntion and English Literature. 
Dowden, E., Studies in Literature. 
Elze, F. K., Life of Lord Byron. 

"Edinburgh Review," First Bevieio of Byron'' s Poems. 
Giles, H. Lectures and Essays. 

Goethe, Conversations with Eckermann ; Faust, Part II., Act iii. 
Button, R. H., Essays in Literary Criticism. 
Jebb, R. C, Modern Greece (Byron in Greece). 
Kingsley, C, Essays, Literary and General. 
Lang, A., Letters to Dead Authors. 
Moore, 'J\, Life of Lord Byron. 
Morley, J., Miscellanies, Vol. I. 
Nichol, J., Lord Byron (English Men of Letters). 
Noel, R., Lord Byron (Great Writers). 
Noel, R., Essays on Poetry and Poets. 

Oliphant, Mrs., Literature of the XVIIIth and XLXth Century. 
Palgrave, F. T. , Landscape in Poetry. 
Swinburne, A. C, Byron and Wordsworth (Essays). 
Symonds, J. A., Life of Shelley (English Men of Letters). 
Taine, R. A., English Literature. 

211 



INDEX 



Achelous, 216. 
Acheron, 215. 
Acherusia, 214. 
Acrocerauuian, 258. 
Actiuin, 213. 
Ada, 223, 238. 
Adriatic, 247. 
Ae.u;is, 208. 
Albano, 271. 
Albania's Chief, 214. 
Albion, 193, 250. 
Albuera, 199, 259. 
Albyn, 228. 
Ambracia, 213. 
Anchises, 256. 
Augelo, 25(). 
arch, 206. 
Arno, 257. 
Ardennes, 228. 
Arqua, 253. 
Athena, 219. 
Athens, Maid of, 208. 
Athens, 256. 
Athos, 210. 

badge, 199. 
bard. 194. . 
base, 231. 
blaze, 209. 
Boileau, 254. 



bolts, 198. 

Bridge of Sighs, 244. 
Britons, 208. 
Brunswick, 228. 

Caesar, 213, 257. 
Caledonia, 207. 
Calpe, 209, 271. 
Calypso, 211. 
Cambron, 228. 
Cannae, 231. 
Canova, 257. 
Cap, 215. 
Castri, 183. 
Chieftain, 228. 
Childe, 184. 
Chimariot, 217. 
Christ, 193. 
Cintra, 193. 
Clarens, 237. 
Clitumnus, 258. 
Coliseum, 263. 
Columbia, 203. 
Convention, 195. 
Cornelia, 260. 
crag, 230. 
Cromwell, 269. 
cross, 198. 
Cruscan, 254. 
Cybele, 245, 



279 



280 



INDEX 



Dacian, 265. 
days, Ancient of, 204. 
Dodona, 215. 
dog, 190. 
dominion, 204. 
Donald, 228. 
Doria, 248. 
Draconic, 231. 

Eden, Cintra's, 193. 
Egei-ia, 262. 
Ehrenbreitsteiu, 231. 
Elf, 194. 
Emperor, 248. 
Epitaph, Spartan's, 247. 
Este, 254. 
Evan, 228. 

Fandango, 199. 
Ferney, 238. 
Ferrara, 253. 
fiend, 194. 
flatterers, 187. 
Florence, 211. 
flowers, Europe's, 227. • 
foeman, French, 191. 
France, 260. 
friend, 203, 220. 
Friuli, 252. 
Furies, 263. 



Gaul, 218. 
Gazelle, 183. 
Giaours, 217, 218. 
Gibbon, 238. 
God, 207. 
Godoy, 199. 
Gorgon, 200. 
Goths, 265. 



Hafiz, 216. 
hall, 194. 
Harold, 226. 
Haram, 215. 
harps, 228. 
Helots, 218. 
Hesperus, 260. 
Highgate, 200. 
hight, 184. 
hill, sacred, 183. 
Hobhouse, 240. 
Honorius, 194. 
Horn, 200. 
host, locust, 193. 
Hymettus, 218. 

Illyria, 214. 
Inez, 201. 
Iskander, 2. 
Italia, 238. 

Julia, 232. 
Julie, 234. 
Jungfrau, 258. 

Kiss, 234. 

Lady, of woe, 194. 

lake, 191. 

Laocoon, 268. 

Laos, 215. 

Laura, 353. 

Lausanne, 238. 

lauwiue, 258. 

lays, 219. 

lemans, 187, 235. 

Lion, winged, 201, 245, 249. 

Lochiel, 228. 

losel, 184. 

Lusian, 192. 

Lusitania, 197. 



INDEX 



281 



Mafra, 196. 
Machiavelli, 257. 
Maid, 189, 201. 
Marathon, 219. 
Matadore, 201. 
Mendells, 219. 
Morat, 231. 
morning, son of, 204. 
Mother, 187. 
mount, 213. 
Muezzin, 215. 
Muscovite, 218. 
Muse, 249. 

Napoleon, 229. 
Nature, 230. 
Nemesis, 186, 252, 263. 
Nemi, 270. 
Newstead, 239. 
Nicopolis, 213. 
Numa, 262. 

Olive, 218. 
one, loved but, 185. 
Oracles, 234. 
Orestes, 263. 
Ottomite, 249. 
Otway, 250. 
outlaws, 222. 

page, 190. 
Pallas, 259. 
Paphos, 200. 
Paphian, 187. 
parent, 220. 
Parnassus, 183, 200. 
Paynim, 190, 197. 
Pelagio, 198. 
Penelope, 212. 
Peri, 183. 



Persian, 235. 
Petrarch, 257. 
Phlegethon, 258. 
Phyle, 218. 
Pierre, 246. 
pile, venerable, 186. 
Pindus, 213, 
plant, 200. 
Previsa, 217. 

Queen, Lusian's, 196. 

Ramazaui, 215. 
Rey, 199. 
Rialto, 246. 
Rienzi, 202. 
Richmond hill, 200. 
rill, vaunted, 183. 
Rousseau, 233, 234. 

Sabine, 271. 
Sadducee, 205. 
Samian, 206. 
Sandal-shoon, 273. 
Santa Croce, 256. 
Scallop-shell, 273. 
Scipio, 257, 258. 
scorn, 196. 
sepulchre, 204. 
Shades, 200. 
Shent, 193. 
shrine, 183. 
sire, 198. 
sister, 189, 197. 
site, 200. 

slave, Lusian, 197. 
Socrates, 205. 
Sophia, 218, 267. 
Spain, 197. 
spoiler, 206. 



282 



INDEX 



Stamboul, 218. 
star, 199. 
stone, 206. 
streamlet, 197. 
Suli, 213. 
Sylla, 259. 
Symplegades, 271. 

Tagus, 192. 
Talavera, 203. 
Tambourgi, 217. 
taiinen, 251. 
Tarpeian, 261. 
Tasso, 245, 254. 
Tayo, 197. 
temple, 204. 
Tepalen, 215. 
Titus, 261. 
Tomerit, 215. 
Trafalgar, 213, 
traitor, 202. 
Trajan, 261. 



tree, 229. 
Tritonia, 218. 
turban, 197. 

Urchin, 194. 
Utraikey, 217. 

Vathek, 194. 
Velino, 258. 
Venice, 244, 245. 
Voltaire, 238. 

Wahab, 218. 
war-song, 198. 
Washington, 259. 
Wellington, 193, 227. 
wrongs, 203. 

Yeoman, 191. 

Zion, 261. 
Zitza, 214. 



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